Arc of the Wolf: On the Nature of Wind
by SLWalker
Summary: 2242 - 2243 "Courage, struggling for oxygen." Full length novel about Scotty's time in Engineering school during his senior year. Takes place after Distant Horizons. 1st Place ASC Award Winner, 2008.
1. Prologue: True North

**On the Nature of Wind**

**--  
**

**Disclaimer:** Star Trek, of course, belongs to Paramount. I'm only borrowing one of their main characters, a couple of cameos and a few of their concepts, but eh. As for the rest of the characters, they're mine. If by some small chance you want to use them, ask.

**Notes:** _It's a long, loooong story, so forgive all of the notes. They won't be too bad, I promise._

_It might have helped if you had read Kobayashi Maru (Pocketbooks #47), but aside from that, I don't kill myself trying to keep to the Trek book canon. Most of 'em don't agree anyway. However, it's not necessary to have read that. Fair warning -- this isn't typical Trek. It takes place entirely on Earth; there're no space battles, no incurable diseases, no exotically beautiful women. It's 99 percent character piece... part comedy, part drama, maybe even a little bit of tragedy._

_Hm, what else? Feedback is not a requirement. You don't have to review. You don't have to e-mail. I wrote this mostly because the story wanted to be told... I hope I do it justice, because I sure had (and still have) fun writing it. It's also part of a very long, multi-author series which you can find either on Ad Astra, or under 'Arc of the Wolf' on my profile page.  
_

_Wanna archive it? Please ask._

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**Prologue: True North**

_Monday, January 10th, 2242  
Andrews Lecture Hall, Theater 6A  
Starfleet Engineering Academy  
Belfast, Ireland, Earth_

_--  
_

The chatter in the back of the hall was more of a buzz than a solid noise; whispers that broke occasionally into silence, then started up again just as unfathomably. Few people seemed to be concerned with what was going on in the front part of the room, where most of the underclassmen were studiously taking notes; those in the back were the upperclassmen who were taking notes not on the subject but rather on the teaching style.

Andrew Corrigan wasn't doing either. A third-year cadet, his only reason for being in the room was because Maggie Mersea was there, and he had a serious case of infatuation for the girl. He had no urge to help teach to the youngsters, especially Basic Language -- but Maggie wanted to teach and he wanted to be near Maggie, so he signed up for a study period that had nothing to do with studying.

"Corry!"

Corrigan pulled his attention away from the blonde and looked over at Sean Kelley, thinking once again that he really didn't want to talk to the ensign. Kelley was about as much fun to talk to as a brick wall, and nearly as ignorant. Still, there were a few times he had given Corry a hand on a project, and even if he was a bit of a condescending bastard, he had the occasional moment of geniality, so Corrigan did his best to look interested. "Yeah, Sean?"

"Do you have the assignment for SS&D?"

Yep, he looked beseeching. Corry hadn't noticed Kelley's absence in the class, but apparently he needed a bailout. Digging through his disorganized notes and textbooks, he pulled out the folder for Year Three Station Structure and Design, and offered the paper over. "It's due on Monday... Captain Bligh there would be pretty ticked if you didn't turn it in."

Sean chuckled, copying the assignment down on a spare sheet of paper, "Yeah, bad enough that I missed class."

"Where were you, anyway?"

"Trying to finish my project for Captain Ahab. Got it in just before the deadline." Sean finished writing and offered the paper back over, looking pretty relieved.

Corry couldn't blame him. Most of the officers who taught the third and fourth year cadets were downright disagreeable, hence their nicknames. Their excuse for being rough was a weak one at best, the whole spiel about 'how would they react to authority on a starbase or starship if they couldn't handle it in the academy'. As far as Corrigan was concerned, they had all gone through basic training, and that was some of the harshest discipline they could ever encounter -- why beat a dead dog?

Shaking his head, he turned his gaze back to Maggie. There was just something about her, and it had nothing to do with the fact she was one of the small handful of women who had actually gone into Engineering and was available. To think that would imply that he was desperate for a female companion, and dammit, Andrew Corrigan was never desperate for anything. Back in South Bristol, he had a few girlfriends, and any one of them would --

"Oooh, this oughta be good..."

Sean's voice cut through Corry's rapt fascination, or more precisely, his tone of voice did. Corrigan glanced up at Kelley, who gave him a smirk and nodded to the podium. "That's him. That's the bastard that swept in here and snatched my ranking."

Corry frowned for a moment, trying to figure out what the other cadet was griping about. Class ranking? Firmly dragging his thoughts away from his past loves, he looked at the podium, where one of the first-year cadets was about to recite some basic Vulcan phrases. How could a newbie steal a third-year's ranking? Then it came back, the more than few rambling sessions Kelley had gone into over the past month or two about some cadet or another who had transferred over from another Academy. In all reality, Corry hadn't paid much attention -- he had better things to keep his mind on than class ranking. Glancing back at Kelley, he tried to keep the amusement out of his voice as he replied, "The supposed grading-curve killer?"

"Just go ahead and laugh, Corry. It's real funny when some little brat comes in out of no where and takes top of the class." Kelley's voice faded into a mutter, "Bet he's some admiral's kid or something."

Corrigan tuned him out, looking back at the podium. The cadet down there looked like he'd be lucky to make it out of the class without passing out, let alone with a high grade. He was white-knuckling the podium like a midshipman in zero-g, pale, baby-faced, stuttering around an accent that could've been anything but definitely didn't work well with the careful enunciation of the basic Vulcan dialect. Corry tried not to laugh, but the poor guy looked downright terrified, and the attempt at 'what is your current heading?' was almost unrecognizable. "You sure, Sean? He's definitely not an upperclassman, let alone one who can steal top ranking."

"Wanna bet?" Kelley sulked, glaring darts at the black-haired ensign below. If looks could kill, everyone between him and the cadet behind the podium would be dead. "He's in ASD with me, and you'd think he was some kind of damn genius or something from the way ole Ahab talks."

Corry raised an eyebrow. There was no way the somewhat pathetic looking cadet below could have gotten into Advanced Starship Design... he couldn't even pass Basic Language, and that was a throwaway class. "Pearson thinks he's a genius?" Corrigan snickered, leaning back in his seat, "Maybe I oughta see if he'll tutor."

"I told you, I'd tutor you if you wanted. You don't need to go to the brat."

Corry smirked. Geez, Kelley was really holding a grudge about that ranking thing. It wasn't the end of the world if someone graduated second in the class instead of first, was it? If Kelley's world revolved around that, he really needed to get himself a girlfriend and something resembling a life.

The chime ended the class, saving the 'curve-killer' from the second part of his somewhat hopeless oration, and Corrigan picked up his notes, watching Maggie as she walked... no, not walked, _glided_...

She was just beautiful. A love-sick sigh threatened to break away from Corry, but he held it back. Kelley was still muttering as he headed down the steps, and he must've said something to the cadet who had been at the podium, because the room went silent lightning fast and everyone left in the room was watching. Corrigan looked between the two... Kelley with his somewhat arrogant grin, and the other ensign who was probably about two seconds away from turning him into some sort of punching bag.

He wasn't entirely sure why he acted, but later he figured that it was mostly pity. Trotting down the steps, he neatly stepped between the two near-snarling men and put on his most disarming grin. "Tell me if you need any of your other class assignments, okay Sean?"

Kelley looked up at Corrigan, briefly debating on whether it was worth the demerits to continue antagonizing, but he must have figured it was better to walk away and nodded stiffly. "I'll do that."

Corry notched the grin up another few levels, needing all of the disarming ability he had, and Sean walked out without a backwards glance. The rest of the remaining cadets, both upper and lowerclassmen, filtered out themselves, more disappointed than anything that someone had broken up a potentially entertaining fight. Breathing a faint sigh of relief, Corrigan turned back to the other cadet, who was still fairly lit up. "Don't mind him, he's an ass sometimes."

"Sometimes," the other cadet echoed, brown eyes narrowing on the exit with almost vicious intensity, as if he could bring Kelley back and finish what was started by sheer staring power. "Most o' the time, if ye ask me."

"All right, 'most o' the time'," Corry agreed. The look he got in answer was like super-cooled liquid coolant, and he chuckled, "Geez, you need to relax. Calm down, take a few deep breaths, then you can give me your name."

For a moment, it didn't seem like the advice would be taken, but it ended fairly quick. "Montgomery Scott. Scotty, t'most people."

Corrigan nodded, grabbing a few stray papers and offering them over. "Andrew Corrigan, mostly known as Corry the Magnificent."

Scott took the papers, one eyebrow raising slightly in amusement now that he'd apparently managed to rein his temper in. "Is that yer proclamation, or--?"

"My delusions of grandeur entirely," Corry interrupted, leaning on the desk. "I have a theory, you know. Care to hear it?"

"Maybe."

"Well, listen anyway. See, my theory goes like this... really good engineers are always known by their last names. Always. It's like some kinda universal constant. Bell, Edison, DaVinci, Cochrane, Corrigan..." Grinning a bit, Corrigan leaned over the desk and dropped his voice, "But Sean Kelley is always known as Sean."

Scotty looked up, with a grin. Tilting his head, he seemed to ponder it for a moment, then looked back at Corry with a chuckle. "Good theory."

"Thanks! And now that we've discussed serious universal theory," Corry said, "I have a proposition for you." Taking note of the wary glance he got, he frowned. "Wow, the world's just out to get you, isn't it?"

"Not the world, just the entire third-year class."

Corrigan waved a hand dismissively. "Okay, let me put it another way. I'll get you through Basic Language, and you get me through SS&D."

The other cadet paused in his meticulous organization of his notes, books and computer tapes, and Corry raised both eyebrows hopefully. Afterall, his parents would kill him if he failed in one of his more important courses, and Basic Language had been a breeze for him. It was practically fail-safe, and the terrible, awful curve killer looked like he could use a friend, or at least someone around who didn't give a hoot about his class rank.

A pause held as Scott weighed the idea, looking for all the more like he was trying to divine the future and figure out if it was a good idea. It eventually came down to common sense, though, and he shrugged. "What the Hell? Ye've got yerself a deal."


	2. Part 1: Balancing Equations: Chapter 1

**Part 1: Balancing Equations**

* * *

A soul in tension is learning to fly,  
Condition: Grounded, but determined to try,  
Gotta keep my eyes from the circling skies,  
Tongue-tied and twisted, just an earth-bound misfit...  
...I.

-**Pink Floyd**, _Learning to Fly_

* * *

Chapter 1:

_Thursday, November 24th, 2242  
Malone Road Dormitory, Room 17  
Starfleet Engineering Academy  
Belfast, Ireland, Earth_

"All right, I've got no less than fifty credits saying that it won't stop raining within the next month."

Scotty didn't look up from the computer. The mere sound of rain water told him two things: That Corry had missed the shuttle from the main campus, and that he was not thrilled about that fact. "No bet here."

Corry frowned, shrugging off his coat and throwing it into the closet without a single thought of hanging it up. "Have you even moved since I left?"

"Hm mm," was the absent-minded and negative reply. He'd just gotten a new batch of upgrade schematics that were going to be performed to the _U.S.S. Constitution_, and saying that Scott was obsessed with the starship would have been a massive understatement. Not only did he have every article, journal and schematic he could get his hands on, but he had managed to bribe one of the higher-up officers to pass on any new information.

"Talked to Admiral Pirrie," Corry was saying as he pulled his boots off and wrung his socks out, "and he agreed to our four-day leave."

For a long moment the comment didn't process, mostly because Scott was concentrating, which was another way of saying that the sun could go nova and he'd be oblivious. It must have been duly noted somewhere though, because after reading another four or five lines, he glanced up, eyebrows furrowed. "I didn't request leave..."

"Nope, you didn't." Corry grinned, flopping back on his bunk. "I requested leave and you're coming with me."

"Ohhhh no. I'm stayin' right here," Scott answered, stubbornly shaking his head and turning back to the monitor. There was too much he wanted to get done and it would be hard enough with the idiotic simulations they seemed to run the senior cadets through every other week. Well, not _every_ other week, but way too bloody often for his tastes. "I've got three different articles due, an' that mockup warp core in Pearson's class-"

"But you're coming with me because I'm not going to feel guilty about leaving you here over Thanksgiving."

This was one of those times Corrigan was irritating him, just a bit. Not that Corrigan ever irritated him for more than a half-hour tops before he gave in, but this time, he just wasn't going to let the older cadet talk him into anything - it had already happened a surprising number of times. And the last time, he slept through an entire day to avoid the hangover. Or, tried to. "That's an American holiday, Corry."

Corry, whistling a few notes, sat up again and leaned forward. "So? The proper response to a Thanksgiving Dinner invitation is, 'Thank ye, Corry, ye're too kind to lifeless little me.'"

Despite himself, Scotty laughed. Corrigan just loved imitating him - that probably went back to the Basic Language lessons not quite a year before when Corry'd had the painstaking task of tutoring a mostly language inept student. Well, inept with speaking them; reading them was easy enough. "Not on yer bloody life. Not now, not ever."

"All right, forget the thank you. But you're coming with me, because not only did I tell Mom I was bringing you along, but I already booked two transatlantic tickets."

Scott was pretty sure he was telepathic. He could almost hear the, 'Ha! Let him try to weasel his way out of that one.' "No..."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes!"

"No, an' that's final!"

"Yes, or I just beat you unconscious and drag you there."

"You wouldn't."

"Bet me?"

He would. "Bastard."

Corrigan whooped in triumph, jumping to his feet and doing a quick victory-dance. Scott glowered at him as downright maliciously as he could, which was pretty damn weak since it was impossible to be angry when your best friend and roommate was dancing like a gimpy chicken. But he at least wanted a point or two for the effort. Waiting until Corry was finished flailing around, he tapped his fingers on the desk. "When're we booked?"

"In three hours," Corry replied, hopping from foot to foot excitedly.

Three hours? Oh for the love of... "Corry, I want to reiterate. Ye're a bastard. A sneaky, lowdown, devious, malcontent- oof!"

Well, that saved him from dragging his carryon out of the closet. Scott sighed, a sort of resigned and basically world-weary sigh, and got started on packing. True, he hadn't protested too hard against the idea, but it would have been nice to have some advanced warning. But then, advanced warning was a luxury when dealing with Corrigan, not a privilege or necessity. He'd learned that the hard way when Corry had announced that they were going to become roommates and had decided to move him in without so much as a word of warning.

Of course, if not for Corry, he might not have been able to pass the much-hated Basic Language course. It would have been a serious setback to have tested out of his entire first two years worth of Engineering Academy only to be held back over something as downright worthless as a course that no one ever put to practical application. Like the universal translator would go out and it'd be critical to speak in ancient high Vulcan to ask for directions. Right.

Thankfully it didn't come to that; he was the youngest senior cadet and first in the class, and all it took was not punching Corry out for correcting him every five seconds, either for the actual language work, or for his own native getting away from him.

Thanksgiving didn't sound too bad, even if it wasn't a Scottish holiday.

"Ever been to Maine?"

Scott shook his head, grabbing his civvy clothes and packing them away. "Been to New York, and Maryland." Half under his breath he added, "And California. Coulda lived without that one."

"Which part, Basic or Command School?" Corrigan asked, still wearing his 'vacation or bust' grin.

"Both."

"Well, Maine's colder than this, but we get sunlight a Hell of a lot more often. And we live in South Bristol, right there on the coast. An island, really. You'll like it, and dammit, put that book down!"

"What book?" Scotty asked innocently, eyebrows up as he hid the 55th edition of 'The Ships of Starfleet: A complete technical reference to the most state of the art vessels' behind his back.

Corry must not have been fooled, because he wrestled it away not more than three seconds later. "There's no way you're going to have your nose buried in a book over the entire leave. Cripes, you need a life."

"But..." He was trying not to look pathetic. He knew he was failing, but damn, he was trying.

"No. You're not going to take that or any other remotely engineering based material. This is vacation! Relaxation! A break from the norm! A chance for peace! An opportunity to-"

"Point taken, Mum," Scotty replied dryly, retrieving the book and putting it back on the shelf neatly. The prospect of four days off campus without any sort of trade-related material was akin to Hell; Engineering wasn't a hobby or a career, it was his _life_.

Corrigan must've caught the slightly... well, obviously unhappy tone and sighed, "Look, there'll be enough to do without working on something or another. Besides," he continued, his voice jumping from chiding to obscenely cheerful, "we're gonna be the greatest engineers ever to work for Starfleet. Might as well have fun while we still can."

"Engineering _is_ fun," Scotty answered, tossing a longing glance at the halfway torn-down phase inverter sitting on his workbench. He was pretty sure he wouldn't get his way, though, even if he had gotten down and sobbed for all he was worth. Of course, compared to his former fate of being a starship captain, four days on leave wasn't too bad, books and bits or no. _"Just four days,"_ he thought. _"How bad can that be?"_

* * *

The constant drumming of fingers on the back of the seat practically drowned out the wind that buffeted the transatlantic shuttle, and it had only been fifteen minutes. Out of a thirty minute flight. Had Corry known his roommate was going to get fidgety, he might have just let him take the book, but this was the first long-term leave he'd convinced (or bullied) Scott into taking. Their occasional weekend jaunts usually ended up in the student's lounge on campus, or pub-crawling through Belfast, but that was a quick run that lasted one night and the next day was spent recovering from it - it had taken months just to get Scott to quit working long enough to do even that. But this was four entire days in Maine, and if the trip over was any indicator, it would be a long four days for the high-strung Scotsman.

"You could try for a rhythm. You know, something other than 'tap, tap, tap'," Corrigan suggested, leaning back in his seat.

"I could be workin' on my term project too." Tap, tap, tap.

"You could, but then you'd miss out on a great dinner, with all kinds of dishes and desserts."

"I can cook, Corry." Scotty looked over, pausing in his drumming for a moment, one eyebrow going up automatically. "Are ye sure that yer parents know that I'm along for the ride?"

"Absolutely sure." Corrigan beamed his trademark, mile wide grin. "Trust me! When have I ever led you wrong?"

"Last month when I woke up on the floor with my bootstrings tied t'gether and a hangover? The same time I missed turnin' in a paper 'cause I was sleepin' it off?" Scott tried to suppress the smirk, but only partially succeeded. "Or the time before that when we were almost nailed for violatin' curfew, all because ye wanted to spy on Maggie?"

"Hey, the guy she was with was a scumbag," Corrigan defended, frowning at the thought. She had been so nice in turning him down the fifth, sixth and seventh times that he had asked her out that he had to make absolutely sure that she wasn't going to get into trouble with the Lieutenant she was dating. Of course, the mishap with the napkin had been entirely accidental. Corry had no clue how that itching powder made it onto that single napkin, and dammit, just because he was mysteriously missing twenty credits out of his student account meant absolutely nothing.

"Aye, perhaps he was," Scotty admitted, crossing his arms and relaxing for a moment or two. He wouldn't admit it, but Maggie had caught his eye too, and he hadn't been the one to slide into the kitchen of that particular restaurant with the offer.

Not that Corry didn't know. But he figured that they could both afford to dream about the same girl since neither of them had any real chance of getting her attention. He took the moment of silence to actually get his thoughts in order, leaning forward a little to look out of the window. It wasn't often he had a moment of peace, between classes, scenarios and having a roommate that didn't seem to know what sleep was if he wasn't plastered. "Looks rough out there. Did you know that back in the old days, the wind could get so bad out there that the waves would just break a ship apart?"

Scott nodded, looking out himself. "Had to've been pretty damn brave, I suppose. I think I'll stick to starships."

"Easier to die."

"Really?"

"No... not really. Well, not back then." Corry smiled slightly, leaning his elbows on the back of the chair in front of him, still looking out. There was something beautifully dangerous about the ocean in a full-gale, something he grew up seeing on the shores of Maine. The current view only showed the sky, but he knew that the foam was streaking on the breaking waves below. Growing up in New England meant that he grew up with the stories of a time when ships still sank, and life or death could depend entirely on the wind and the skill of the men onboard. "It's kind of hard to believe that it's been almost a century since the last time a ship's gone down and someone actually lost their life."

"I wouldna say that's a bad thing," Scott pointed out, trying to see down through the cloud cover to the Atlantic's surface.

"Not at all, but we've gotten everything so fail-safe here on Earth that it's almost impossible to do _anything_ wrong." He knew that Scotty would be the last person in the world to understand, but he tried to explain anyway, "See, if we can't fail, we can't succeed either. Not unless we go out into the stars. But people used to go out on the water and that was like their final frontier, their lives on the line. Kinda makes me wish I was born about five hundred years ago."

"Why? I mean, ye've got a handful of sheets, a pile o' lumber, and if somethin' does go wrong, there's no emergency transport, no backup systems, nothin' standin' between you an' the deep." Scott shrugged, going back to drumming once he realized that he just couldn't crane his neck enough to see below. "If I'm gonna give my life, I'd want t' do it out there... _up_ there. Where I can make a difference, instead of relyin' on the right winds."

"Have you ever even been sailing?"

"No. Been out on power boats, though. Fishin', mostly, not too far out."

Corry grinned, trying to break away from the somewhat philosophical aire that had fallen. "Sheltered."

Scotty gave him a brief, not-really-irritated look. "If I were sheltered, I wouldna been allowed to hang glide. Tell me _that's_ not wind related."

"Yeah, but hang gliding's different. That's a land-based thing."

"I went out over the water a few times. I just prefer the land scenery."

"Suuure. Uh huh. Right. Yep. Yessiree." Corry smirked, knowing full well exactly what the response to that needling would be.

Right on cue... "Ye're such a bastard sometimes."

Corrigan sighed happily, looking up at the ceiling with a self-satisfied look. "I know."


	3. Part 1: Balancing Equations: Chapter 2

_Chapter 2:_

_Friday, March 3rd, 2243  
H&W Shipyards, Berth #22  
Team C Headquarters  
Belfast, Ireland, Earth_

She was starting to take on the look of a ship, instead of just a long, thick wooden stretch up on the cradle. The foremost seven ribs were up, braced by boards and re-enforced by the ribbands that stretched the length so far, a temporary way to keep everything in line. It required manual labor, she received manual labor, and most of the twenty-man crew who spent their hours working on her went to bed with sore muscles and a sense of accomplishment.

It was getting harder for her head architect to think of her as a complete nuisance, though Scott usually found a reason. The woodnails weren't sturdy enough, or the templates hadn't been calculated quite so far as he might have liked, not making it to the millionth of a decimal. Not that it would have mattered, given the tools they had to work with, but he was by nature a perfectionist, even if it was his own idea of perfection and not everyone else's.

But she was beginning to look like he'd planned, so there was something to be said for her. Pausing for a long moment to scrutinize the barely started structure, he really did wonder what Starfleet would do with her when she was finished. If never crossed his mind - it was when, and that was that. Donate her to one of the remaining maritime schools? Offer her over to a travel agency, where she could join one of the few remaining tallships in making credits on 'historical' cruises?

Historical. Grinning sardonically, he shook his head... they were historical all right. About as historical as flying to Pluto on one of the personnel transports. What would these people do, sit around on her deck while watching the subspace network news, sipping on elaborate cocktails and being served by an Andorian? Oh aye, historical right down to the comforts of home.

Well, he'd be damned if _his_ ship would... be...

Frowning, Scotty stopped pacing the length of the skeleton. Since when did he think of the _Lady Grey_ as his ship? She was an annoyance, that was what she was. No more his than the slip they were building her in. Starfleet owned her. He was just building her. Shooting a glare at the backbone of the schooner, he quite firmly put any thoughts of ownership - literal or metaphysical - out of his mind and walked back to where Corry was pouring over a textbook. "Havin' any luck?"

"Nothing yet," Corry answered distractedly, flipping through a few more pages. He had fallen to reading every medical textbook he could get his hands on. "You practically need a medical degree to understand some of this stuff."

"We're engineers, that's why. We think in terms o' technical," Scott answered, shrugging. He didn't want to get into another medical discussion about bacteria that floated on solar currents from planets long since decimated, or whatever it was. What he really wanted was for the older cadet to take back over on the project... well, eventually. As soon as he was ready.

"Hey!" Jansson's voice echoed, causing the other two to cringe slightly. Of course, he didn't seem to care in that particular moment, bounding over with a very self-satisfied expression. "I just finished the template for the amidships ribs."

Scotty grinned again, just for the sake of it. "Did ye? It'll be a week before we get that far, but those'll go quick enough."

Jansson shrugged, leaning on the wall next to Corry's chair. "Well, at least I know my part's done for awhile. Does that mean you'll cut my hours, sir?" he teased, tapping Corry on the shoulder.

"If you want," Corrigan answered, not looking up.

"What, ye find a girl who'll look at yer ugly mug for any length o' time?" Scott asked, innocently, putting on his best 'pure sugar and spice and everything nice' expression. "I've got a case o' Scotch, if that'll make it easier."

"This coming from the most hopeless womanizer in the world, yep," Jansson retorted, good-naturedly. "The last girl you asked out told you that she might be available when you finally started shaving. And stopped stammering."

"Aye, but at least I didn't have to shave a sheep an' try'n make it look presentable."

"No, you just up and took the sheep out without even bothering to-"

"Hey, if you two plan on keeping this up, take it somewhere else, all right?" Corry said, flatly, finally looking away from the book long enough to skewer both of them in a glance. "I'm trying to read here."

The other two cadets exchanged a brief, slightly surprised look, and Scott frowned. "Corry, ye could put the book down for a minute or two, ye know."

Corrigan sighed, an impatient sound, and closed the textbook. "I could, but I'm not going to. What I am going to do, though, is find somewhere quiet, and you two can toss your sheep-shagging jokes without worrying." Without waiting for a response, he stood and headed for the door.

Jansson scratched his head, looking after Corry. "I think he needs a vacation."

"He needs somethin'..." Scott shook his head, uncertainly. "I wish I knew what."

* * *

He hadn't meant to snap. It was wrong to bite the heads off of your friends, no matter how annoying they got, and Corry pondered on what would prompt him to be so downright foul to Scott and Jansson. It wasn't like they weren't being themselves, just goofing off a little bit, and it certainly wasn't like they didn't deserve to be a little silly. Those two, plus Albright, had shouldered the burden that was honestly Corry's.

Sighing to himself, the cadet tucked the medical textbook under his arm and continued for the dorm. He was so close to finding something. Something that would take the edge off of his anger and inability to stand by while his father lay in the hospital still, something that would make it all right again. Corrigan was no fool - he might not worry himself stupid over grades like Sean Kelley, but that had no bearing on his intelligence, only on his coursework.

The streets were quiet and dark, and he tried hard not to let the feeling of heaviness overwhelm him. It got dark so early, and the lack of sunlight wore even worse than normal, bearing down on his very soul and making everything seem dull and colorless. Still, the air tasted good and clean, there was the underlay of salt that was so much a part of him, and a warm room waiting for him when he made it back. It wasn't an unreasonably long walk, and though the shuttle would have had him back there in a matter of minutes, it was better to walk and think.

Kicking at a stone, he watched the ground. There were at least fifteen different known spaceborne bacteria strains with similar symptoms, and though none of them were what had afflicted his father, he felt certain that he might find a clue or a key there. Closing his eyes in a wash of anger, Corry tried to banish the mental picture of his Dad laying there behind the transparent aluminum, covered in tubes, and of his mother with her hand pressed to the wall, tears in her eyes from all of the worry, the love, the stress. Sure, he was doing better and better by the day, but still.

It wasn't fair. God, it just wasn't right! Why did it have to happen? There was such a sense of injustice there that the cadet couldn't help but feel like someone or something was trying to take away the near perfect life he'd had and replace it with some sort of living Hell. Taking a deep breath, he unclenched his teeth before he could chip them. He'd already chipped one tooth while in a fit of anger, and he didn't feel like doing it again.

Finally arriving at the dorms, he nodded to the security officer on duty, trying not to look too miserable. Taking the short trip to the building, he keyed in his student ID code and stepped in when the door unlocked.

It seemed far too noisy in there, what with everyone back in from their evening out. Weaving his way through the other cadets clustered on the bottom of the stairwell, he headed up to the second floor and unlocked the room door, slipping in and closing it with a sigh of relief. The building was old, mostly kept to historical specs so that it wouldn't clash with this old sector of Belfast, but at least the walls weren't too thin and there wasn't much noise that bled in from the adjoining rooms or hallway. It was good for Corry - he was so tired of people, so tired of everything.

"I need a vacation," he murmured to himself, setting the book on his desk and sitting on the bed for a moment to gather his mental strength before delving back into it. Rubbing at his eyes, he tried to imagine what Scotty must have thought about being snapped at. It wasn't often that Corrigan snapped at his roomie; in fact, usually it went the other way and he was the one being verbally assaulted. He'd seemed taken aback, though, like it was a bit of a surprise... not angry or hurt, just kind of 'huh?' Well, Corry would make it up to him someday, if for no other reason than guilt. Right now, though, he had work to do and information to find, so he took the book in hand again and settled back to pick up where he'd left off.

He'd gone though a good twenty pages, reading with the feverish intensity of an obsessed researcher before he registered the door opening and looked up. "Hey."

"Evenin'," Scott answered, dragging in something that looked like a piece of hull plating from a starship. "Feelin' any better?"

"Yeah," Corry said, offhand, watching the strange proceeding. What the heck was Scott doing now? "Sorry I snapped at you and Jer like that."

"Eh." Scott shrugged one-shouldered after he set the metal down. He stepped out of the room and carried in something else, something that looked sort of like a coil assembly with a portable power source attached. "Find any new information since ye left?"

Corrigan set the book aside, now fully curious about what was going on. "Uh, a little. Nothing that wasn't common sense, though."

Now a long length of cord and a heavy looking bag. "Seems like most o' the medical community states th' obvious. In my humble opinion, anyway."

"What're you doing?" All right, Corry couldn't hold back any longer. What did a sheet of metal, a coil, a power source, a cord and a bag have in common?

"Wait for it." Grinning, Scotty went and retrieved the last of his enigmatic objects, which put an end to the mystery. Setting the last bag on his desk, he went to setting the sheet metal on his workbench, tossing a glance back at Corrigan. "Guess yet?"

"Cooking," Corry chuckled, shaking his head. He should have figured that out from the beginning, but with all of the strange objects Scott had dragged in over the past year, he never knew what to expect. Last time the other cadet had gotten the itch to cook, he'd just up and 'borrowed' the stove from downstairs. Apparently, this time he was intent upon making his own. "What's the occasion?"

"What's the date?"

"Uhm..." It took him a minute to count the days from the last time Corry had bothered to look at a calendar. "March 3rd?"

"Keep thinkin'," Scott said, already working on his homemade range.

Corrigan pondered it for a moment, and when it hit him he could have kicked himself. "Your birthday. Dammit, it completely slipped my mind!"

"Don't feel bad, I almost forgot myself." Sealing the wide coil to the sheet with a heat resistant epoxy, Scott shrugged again. "Like Italian?"

"You don't have to cook for me too," Corry protested, not very persuasively. He'd skipped lunch and he loved Italian. "Isn't this your day to be pampered?"

"No," Scott said, wiring the coil with expert precision. "I _like_ cookin'."

Corry leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms and watching. "You're one of the weirdest people I know. I mean, you cook, you invent, you hang glide... you won't drink wine, you'll fight over Scotch being the best whiskey, but you don't like haggis and you prefer Italian. Did it ever occur to you that your fancies are pretty extreme?"

"Cookin's kinda like engineerin'... put the stuff together and make it work. I tolerate haggis, but Italian tastes better, so I cook Italian. And I don't mind wine, but only with certain dishes, an' never just on it's own. Scotch _is_ the best whiskey, and hang-glidin' is the closest thing I can get to flyin' without a civilian pilot's license," the other cadet replied, easily, still wiring away.

"I guess... but see, I'm from Maine, I like New England clam chowder, I sail... all those are in line."

"Ye like Italian too, ye happen t' have a taste for Anaquarian whiskey, which to me tastes like runoff from a chicken farm..." Scott put a smaller piece of metal he'd had stashed under his workbench on top of the coil, fixed it there, then plugged the wire in. When it heated like he expected, he grinned brightly to himself before finishing the statement he'd started, "I suppose it's all personal taste."

"Yeah, guess so."

"So what's medical research have t'do with engineerin', sailin' and clam chowder?"

Corry frowned slightly, shifting his seat on the bed. "Call it a side hobby."

"Aye, hobby," Scotty said, pulling out a bottle of water and a fairly large pot. "Garlic?"

"Definitely," Corrigan answered, somewhat relieved that the subject had been dropped at that. He hated having to justify himself. "Not making your own sauce?"

"Not enough time. I can make due, though."

"What're you gonna do on a starship, where you can't get any of the stuff you need?"

"Hydroponic gardens?" Scott tried, with a shrug, oiling and salting the water that was now on his homemade stove. "I guess I'm stuck livin' with what their cooks see fit to cook up, or I get good at beggin', borrowin' and barterin' for ingredients."

Corry smiled offhand, watching for a moment. The other cadet wasn't long in getting as absorbed into his cooking as he did into his engineering... putting the sauce on, spicing it up with an assortment of different traditional herbs, adding the rigatoni to the water, working on the garlic bread, and after a few minutes, Corrigan went back to his reading. At least the atmosphere of the room had taken on the easy aire of camaraderie that it had been missing the past couple of weeks.

* * *

"Well," Corry said, lightly, as he set his plate aside, "if you ever get sick of engineering, you could probably make a good living as a cook."

"Mum taught me," Scott explained, long since finished with his dinner and sipping on a glass of good red wine. Italian was one of his admitted exceptions. One did not drink Scotch with Italian. It was a crime. "It was that or goin' with my father on his design trips over the school breaks."

Corrigan grinned, standing and getting himself a glass of the wine. "You'd make someone a terrific housewife someday, Scotty."

"Aye?" Scotty asked, dangerously, picking up a fork and chucking it at Corry. "I'll have ye know that besides Mum, the best chefs in the galaxy're male."

The fork struck Corry in the side of the head, but he was snickering too hard to get angry over it. Maybe if it had gotten him with the prongs he might have paused, but as it were, it just amused him more. "Oooh, did I hit a nerve? Sorry, now I know what to get you for your birthday... just think three words: Pink, ruffled and apron."

"Ye do, an' so help me I'll just wait till ye fall asleep and see what a high powered energy current can do t' the human body," Scott growled, unplugging the wire from the homemade stove with comical exaggeration and waving the end at Corry. "I'd just stick this thing up yer nose, an' watch ye burn."

"Because I compliment your cooking?"

"Because ye insult my masculinity," Scott said, smartly, nodding as though he'd just delivered a particularly good speech.

"Masculinity," Corry echoed, trying and almost failing to maintain a neutral expression. It was a real effort on his part. "Well, I suppose if your self-esteem has survived the cooking lessons and the wearing of skirts, you're not about to lose it over a pink apron."

Scott frowned. "Cookin' happens to be a hobby, not somethin' I do religiously. And a kilt is NOT a skirt, it's a kilt, an' I'll not have ye sayin' anything against it. Besides, I only wear that to formal family events."

"All right, all right," Corrigan said, though he definitely couldn't help the amused and placating tone. Waiting until his roommate gave him a black look and went to cleaning up his homemade kitchen, he picked up the textbook and went back to reading. He did feel better now that he had something in his stomach and a little banter to make up for the past weeks of quiet. He resolved himself to spending less time with his nose in a textbook; maybe that would make the overall anxiety lighten.


	4. Part 1: Balancing Equations: Chapter 3

_Chapter 3:_

_Tuesday, December 6th, 2242  
Weikman Lecture Hall, Theatre 2B  
Starfleet Engineering Academy  
Belfast, Ireland, Earth_

Falling back into a schedule was sort of like reading a book that's been read a thousand times. You knew what was coming, spent a few hours re-reading, and occasionally you might cross a paragraph you've read before and never appreciated. That was what Historical Engineering and Design class was like as well... going over the old and familiar, and gaining a new appreciation for it. The professor was a commander in Starfleet whose love for engineering was surpassed only by his love of history, hence making it the perfect combination for him to teach.

He wasn't a bad teacher either, and his passion for the subject was infectious. Scott wasn't the most historically-inclined student, reserving his attachments for modern day designs, and even he found the occasional lecture that made him look up from whatever schematic he was poring over to listen.

This was not one of those days.

Going over Cochrane's first designs was terrific, getting a real in-depth view on how the man's mind had worked when he had basically invented the modern age. The advent of the impulse engine had been another really intriguing lecture. He'd even found something mildly interesting in a study of nuclear powered naval destroyers. Then they went back further in their studies, into the age of petroleum-based internal combustion, then steam, and finally back to wood and canvas.

Corry loved it, Scotty couldn't stand it, and the last two nights had invoked two arguments that had reached almost epic proportions over which each of them believed to be true... Corrigan thought that to understand modern starships, one had to understand archaic sailing ships, and his roommate most adamantly disagreed.

And now, sitting in the back of the theater, Scotty basically tuned out the entire proceeding and concentrated on the fuel-mix ratios for the _Deravian_ class freighters, which went right along with a recent battle the _Constitution_ had engaged in. Historical Engineering was an elective, taken mostly for the credit, and even if he didn't do more than take common sense guesses on the exams, he could still pass it. So he didn't hear the next words, but if he had, he might have started to seriously worry.

"As this is my last year, ladies and gentlemen," Professor Barrett said, pacing in front of the podium, "I've decided to do something a little different. I understand that every other year, we've taken a written final, and that's what you're expecting. But, since this is the last time I'll have the distinct pleasure of teaching cadets, we're going to have a practical final exam."

Waiting until the students quieted down, he stepped back and drew a few lines on the chalkboard, the most elementary lines of a sailing vessel. That drew more concerned whispers, but he continued without a word of reproach, "This year, we're going to be building ships. More specifically, sailing ships... all the way from an initial design to the final christening, and perhaps even further. This project will take the rest of the year, and we'll begin next week, so prepare yourselves."

"Sir?" One of the cadets in the front row rose his hand, eyebrows drawn in a frown. "This sounds awfully time-consuming... will it interfere with our other classes?"

Barrett smiled, leaning on the podium. "Well, Mr. Jansson, that would depend on how much you can get done in class, and on your personal time."

Jansson cringed, probably not wanting to ask anything else for fear of the answer, and Corry jumped in without hesitation, "Will we have a choice on what sort of ship we're building, Professor?"

"I'll have you all broken into teams, and assigned a specific material to work with, but so long as you're historically accurate, the design's entirely your discretion." Barrett glanced at the chronometer, then back at the student body. "Assemble any questions you have and I'll answer them tomorrow." As if on cue, the chime ended the class.

Now the chime was akin to Pavlov's work with the dog... even the most engrossed senior cadets heard it through whatever technology-induced haze they had fallen into, and Corrigan's intrepid and occasionally absent-minded roomie wasn't any different. Corry had contemplated building one just for the sake of getting Scott to pay attention to something besides books, girls he had no chance with, and schematics... it would have made for a nice change from the usual mumbles and single-minded chatter.

As it were, he bounded up the steps to the top of the hall, waiting impatiently for Scotty to finish organizing his books. "This is just gonna be great. In fact, I can't think of a better final."

"Final? In December?" Scott didn't look up, no doubt sure he was just hearing things. No one had finals in December, unless it was only a semester class, and none of his classes were.

"Did you even hear a word? Hell, a syllable?" Corry leaned on the back wall, one eyebrow going up.

"Nu uh. See, 'bout two weeks ago, the _Constitution_ had a run in with not just a pirate ship... oh no, a whole damn fleet o' the bastards. So there they are..." Scott went into theatrical mode, setting his books down and gesturing with both hands, eyes glazing over as he relived whatever this was, "surrounded on all sides, takin' hits from every quarter. Shields go down, she's practically floatin' dead in space, an' Cohlburn... that's her Chief... he has t'rewire the whole bloody relay system, reroute power directly from the engines, can't even use the converters or the regulators-"

Corry rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Can I just guess at the end? It works, the ship survives, and goes on to demolish the whole pirate fleet."

Scotty shot him a dirty look, pausing in mid-gesture. "No, but she set 'em runnin'."

"I was close." Corrigan smiled a genial, somewhat disarming smile. "So you heard absolutely nothing about how, for our final, we're going to be designing, building, and maybe even sailing something with real, honest-to-God sails? You know, those ships you call archaic piles of lumber?"

The look was worth it. The younger cadet blinked once, twice, and when it clicked he took on an expression close to horror, nearly squeaking, "Ye're kiddin'!"

"Nope!" Corry said, grinning. "And care to guess when we're starting this little project?" Taking the dumbfounded shake of the head as a 'go-ahead', he dropped the proverbial bomb, "Next week."

Scott whimpered, finally looking at the blackboard. When he saw the lines, he looked like he wanted to crawl into a dark hole. "N-next... next week? As in, really next week? We're gonna start workin' on _this_ next week?"

Corry sighed happily, starting down the steps and for the exit. "I knew you'd be thrilled."

* * *

"Displacement, buoyancy, rightin'-arms an' rightin' movements, deep-v instead o' shallow draft... ohhhhh God." Scott buried his face in his hands and moaned softly, just trying not to let the headache he had drive him to throwing himself out the window. This entire business of building a sailing ship was mind-numbing - in fact, he could feel his brain cells dying a slow, painful death. It didn't help that out of twenty team members, Corry had placed him as head shipwright.

"It's not that bad, is it? It's engineering, at any length," Corrigan pointed out, closing the door behind him and setting down the three bags he'd brought.

"He's been mumbling about it since you left." Jerry Jansson stood from where he was perched on the table, setting aside an ancient book to go snoop in the bags.

Scott scowled, pulling the drawing board back onto his lap and looking down at it. He'd been working on it for the past week and still felt utterly hopeless. Corry had decided that they were going to be all traditional Maine, and build a schooner - well and good, aye, but the mathematics were agony. There was nothing there even remotely relative to starships. "A'right, lemme see someone else do this. Lemme see one o' you try'n figure out these calculations and make bloody sense of 'em."

Corry shook his head and stepped over, peering over his shoulder. "You have a whole group here who'll help. It's not like you have to do this alone."

"'GZ, the rightin'-arm, is drawn from G perpendicular to the direction of buoyancy...'" Scott frowned deeper still, raising an eyebrow up at Corry. "Tell me again what this has to do with modern shipbuildin'?"

Corrigan picked the drawing board up, looking over the rough drawing for a moment before replying, "Okay, look at it like this. In starship design, we have a keel, a center of gravity for orbital purposes, a displacement for any low-atmosphere flying... it's not that different. Just... I dunno, try thinking of it like a starship, but on water."

"Suuure, a starship on water." Scotty leaned back, crossing his arms. "Why, that's bloody brilliant, isn't it? Just imagine that starships have buoyancy, angles of heel, metacenters and inch trim movements."

"Exactly!" Corry chirped, beaming a false grin. "And at least try to have fun with it."

"Hey, Corry! Are you gonna let us eat, or do we have to wait for a finished schematic?" Joseph Albright asked, calling from the table where the bags were still sitting.

"Nah. We'd starve to death." The team leader shot his roommate a sharpish look before going back to the table himself. He knew well enough that the look was returned, probably razor-like in it's unhappiness, but after a week of prodding he was even starting to lose his patience. Sure, shipbuilding wasn't easy and it meant a lot of research, but he knew Scotty was damn near a genius when it came to engineering. There wasn't much of an excuse not to use that talent for something unique, except that Scott was miserable and when he was miserable he had a knack for dragging his feet over anything he could. Shaking his head, Corry fished out the burgers, tossing one to Albright. "Can you believe I paid six credits apiece for these things? Processed veggies made to taste like meat, and they charge six credits for it."

"Welcome to modern economics," Jansson chuckled, already through two burgers and heading into a third. "Supply and demand? Nu uh. Gouge the hungry cadets! Make 'em beg!"

"Or pay out through the project budget." Corrigan sat down on a chair, kicking back and munching half-heartedly at the cold food.

Albright smirked. "Well, if we're not going to build a ship, at least we won't be hungry when we fail, right?"

"Just fat and slothlike in our misery!" Corry howled, melodramatically, holding the burger out in one hand and putting his other hand over his heart, "But soft! What shout through yonder doorway breaks? It is the calisthenics officer and we are the victims! Arise, fair cadets, and slay that chunkiness, which is congealed about your bellies!"

"Oh man," Jansson laughed, crumpling the wrapper and throwing it into the bag, "I don't think Shakespeare had that in mind at all."

"Shakespeare never attended Starfleet Engineering Academy, either," Albright answered, glancing at his watch. "Hey, shouldn't we be getting back to the dorms? It's getting late."

"Yeah, yeah."

"You two go ahead," Corry said, taking another bite of the cold sandwich before throwing it away. "I'll see about getting our head architect to move a little quicker."

"Good luck." Jansson shrugged, pulling on his cadet-issue jacket. "Give me a call if you need anyone to take over."

Corrigan frowned, leaning back in his chair. "All right. See you guys later." Waiting until they were out of the loft, he stood and stretched. It was a little chilly in there - but then, considering the size of the place, that wasn't too surprising. Professor Barrett had been kind enough to arrange for an indoor berth to build the ship in... the only concession he would make historically. The whole room was nearly two hundred feet long, supported by duradium beams that arched the tall ceiling. The massive doors at the end led to the ramp, which in turn led into Belfast Lough. The lack of heat on the main floor had to have something to do with the coolness of the mold loft, and Corry entertained the idea of bringing in a few plasma heaters to warm the place up. Hard enough to do serious manual labor, but to be constantly cold was a whole other factor.

Of course, without a finished architectural plan, they would never get to that point. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself for dressing down his roommate, a task he found completely miserable. It was one thing to banter, one thing to even argue, but it was almost painful to have to chew Scott out using the authority he had as the project leader. Stepping back to the once-again working architect, he looked over the plans and hoped he wouldn't have to do any serious yelling to get the point across. "You know, the sooner we get this done, the sooner we can move onto something else."

"It's pointless! A damn waste o' time, completely an' totally foolish, no matter how ye look at it."

Corry rubbed tiredly at the bridge of his nose. He'd had a feeling it would go down this way - it wasn't as though they hadn't had a couple of warm-up arguments that would lead into this. Scott was stubborn; when he dug his heels in, it wasn't easy to drag him along.

No amount of trying to be nice was going to work, so finally Corry counted to three in his mind and continued, "Listen, pal. I know you're less than thrilled about this whole thing, you've made that perfectly clear. But this isn't just your grade, this is the whole group's grade too."

Scotty barely bit back a growl and set the drawing board down, then stood and snatched his coat from the back of the chair. "I know that. I understand that perfectly, but if ye wanted a happy trooper, Cor, ye shoulda picked someone else."

"But I didn't, and dammit, this is your responsibility!" Corry leveled an icy gaze at the other cadet, holding it until he forced Scott to look down at his boots. "Look, I'm not going to just hand this over to someone else. You're the best designer here, and as soon as you can drag yourself away from the fog of whining, we can get this project moving."

"Ye're a _bastard_," Scotty snapped, and Corry knew that this time, he meant it.

"Hate me if you want, but I'm not going to let you moan and groan about how stupid this is until we're all trying to explain why we failed our final," Corrigan said, keeping an even voice and mentally wincing at the entire ordeal. When he was twenty, he probably would have taken a reprimand like that hard... two years made a big difference, he realized without really thinking about it. Doing his best to soften his tone, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I know this isn't your idea of a good time, but if I didn't think you were the best man for the job, I wouldn't have appointed you. Use that genius of yours and make the best of it... do that, and I'll buy the Scotch."

"Ye'll have it by the deadline, an' not a day earlier." Scotty pulled his coat on and buttoned it, still plenty pissed off. Without a backwards glance, he all but marched out.

Corry waited until he heard the door slam before picking up the drawing board. Sitting down, he eyed the lines... more practical than artistic, but even as rough as it was, it was going to be a damn good looking ship. It had a deeper draft, sort of narrow-bodied. Smiling slightly, he looked over the few written notes: "Schooner, fore and aft, LOD=106', LOA=157', Beam=26'... GZ? GM? ITM? BM? Help?" Further down, it had a few of the figures Scott had managed to work out, all in longhand. Setting the board down again, he leaned back in the chair until he was looking at the dark ceiling. He didn't want to go back to the dorm just yet and face the liquid-nitrogen silence he was certain to get.

Maybe it would all blow over by morning. If not, Corry couldn't immediately imagine anything worse than getting the cold shoulder from his best friend.

For now, the ceiling and the soft Belfast rain was all the company he wanted.

* * *

Morning came inevitably, bringing a still soft rain and the smell of sea so strong that it permeated everything and everyone. Corry drifted awake to the buzzer, reaching back with one hand to smack the off button... it was too early to go to class, too early to think of anything but staying in bed.

The secondary buzzer was the one that got him, though, and he pulled himself out of bed and stretched. The room was quiet and he rubbed at his eyes drowsily, stifling a yawn... yep, way too early for this. What happened to those carefree days when he was a kid, worrying only about grade school and recess? What happened to the long summer days he'd spent fishing, swimming and sailing?

Gone, long gone. Shaking his head, he glanced around for his roomie, but Scott was long since gone himself. His other pair of boots were even put away neatly - testament that Corry must have struck a nerve. He hadn't been there when Corrigan had come in last night, and if not for the boots, Corry would never have guessed the other cadet had shown back up. Feeling a pang of self-recrimination, he sighed and opened his closet.

His uniforms hung neatly, sharp grays that he actually tried to keep nice and crisp for class. Reaching to grab one, he stopped short when he saw the note hanging by engineer's putty from the shelf, and after a moment puzzling over it, he pulled it down to read it.

_Cor,_

_Here they are, every last one of them - every last one of them that I could manage anyway. Albright should be able to check them and if he could finish the weight distribution studies, I would be in his debt._

_Scott  
_  
Corry smiled slightly, folding the note and pulling the old-fashioned notebook down. Sure enough, in slightly shaky but otherwise neat block lettering were the equations, from the righting movement to the center of buoyancy above the keel. Even the inch-trim was worked out. He didn't want to think too much about how long and hard the night must've been for Scotty to have pulled off a feat like that, but he did think about where he could find a good bottle of Scotch. Afterall, fair was fair.

Slipping the note into the front cover, he set the notebook on his dresser and went back to getting dressed for the day.

* * *

It _had_ been a long night, spent under the overhanging roof of a dockside building in the cold damp air, using the weak light from above to write. One hand with a pencil, the other turning the pages of the shipbuilding handbook... circa 1845... and Scott had worked out every single equation that he could until he was too tired to see straight.

Why he did was well beyond him. When he'd told Corry that he wouldn't have it until the deadline, he had been serious. Deciding wisely that he needed to cool off, he'd checked in with Security, let them think he was in for the night, then snuck out and headed down for a walk along the docks; maybe he'd never want to work on the ocean but he still enjoyed being near it. Pacing the concrete in the dark, listening to the lapping against the piers, somewhere around midnight he'd decided to just work on this a little - cut down on what he'd have to do the next day. It was a quick walk back to the dorms, and it hadn't been hard to scale the fence and slip into the basement window that was always left open by the last cadet who had been doing laundry that night.

It took maybe a half-hour to get in and back out, a task Scotty had gotten damn good at since moving into the dorms. He'd gone back to the docks, found a spot out of the rain, pulled the books and notebook from where he'd shielded them under his coat, and gone to work.

Now, at not quite a quarter to ten in the morning, he could barely stay awake. The lecture hall was nice and warm, pleasant after being chilled all night by mist, and he really wanted to nod off and sleep through the rest of class. Or skip out altogether and go back to bed. Or even get a nice, hot cup of coffee... nevermind. Long hours were an unbeatable part of being an engineer in the service.

"Hey..."

And there was the other half of the reason he'd stayed out all night. Trying to muster up some indignation and failing, Scotty glanced sidelong at Corry, who'd somehow managed to slip into the hall without him noticing. "What?"

Corry winced slightly, setting his books down on the desk. "Thanks for finishing the equations."

"Welcome."

"...are you still mad?"

"Noooooo, o' _course_ not." Really, he wasn't too angry, but it didn't hurt to make Corry squirm. As far as Scott was concerned, he deserved it a little at least - walking around for two hours trying to face some unkind truths about oneself wasn't the least bit thrilling. Corry might have been right, but it didn't take the sting away. "Give those t' Albright?"

"Yep. He was overjoyed... he says he can have them all polished and finished by Tuesday, a whole three days before deadline," Corrigan said, quietly, leaning on his books and looking down at the guest lecturer. "I really like the design, you know."

Scotty frowned slightly, leaning back and crossing his arms. He wasn't in the mood for small talk, being friendly, or anything that required energy. "Aye."

"And I went out and got you something." Corry grinned in sudden good-humored pride, pulling an old bottle out of his carryon and offering it over. "Fair's fair and all."

"Cor! Bloody Hell, put that away!" Scott squeaked quietly, once he got a good look at the label. "Are ye daft, pullin' that out in here?"

"Nah, he's not paying attention," Corrigan answered, but he put the Scotch away just in case. "It's some good stuff though, cost me a bundle so you'd better appreciate it."

"Ye're bribin' me."

"Is it working?"

Scotty chuckled, shaking his head. So much for staying mad. "Aye. It's workin'."

* * *

Barrett was indeed pleased, having never expected the cadets from Team C to finish stage one early. He had assigned Corrigan as the leader, partly for the sake of prior experience and partly because he was reasonably people-oriented, and they had drawn wood to work with as their primary material. Team A had gotten aluminum, no easy find in the modern day. Team B had gotten steel, Team D had fiberglass, and so forth. So looking over the finished equations, he was looked happy with the progress. "Gentlemen, I'm impressed."

"Thank you, sir," Corry answered for the rest of his team. He tried to ignore the looks they were getting from the rest of the class... it wasn't their fault they seemed to have the majority of the talent. "Do we have permission to move onto the next stage?"

"Absolutely. I'll give you a list of distributors... I take it you've worked out which woods you'll be using?"

Albright spoke up, having adjusted Scotty's figures enough to work with the different densities, "Aye, sir, we've decided we're going to work with oak primarily."

"Very good. I'll expect your detailed schematics by the next deadline," Commander Barrett said, offering the notebook back to Corry. "Good luck."

Corrigan took the notebook and turned to leave, the rest of his team following on his heels. Most of the twenty-member crew was waiting to start the actual work, reading up on the physical process of building a ship and working with the timbers - the design team was the one working on the more mental level. Jansson was in charge of working on the material plans, Albright was the man who was to adjust the initial equations for every change made in the ship, and Scotty was heading up the overall design... in charge of the schematics. Not that he had to do it alone, since Albright and Jansson were damn good designers as well, and Corry was willing to help even if his main strengths were based on maintenance instead of creation.

It was a good design team, and Corrigan was pretty sure they wouldn't have any trouble with the rest of the cadets either. He just regretted Maggie being assigned to Kelley's team and not his... it just tickled him when she returned his smile on the way out of the hall.

"Now we're movin', baaaaby," Jansson sang, impromptu, skipping a step. "Team C, as in c-ya later."

"Ye're too cheerful. Stop it," Scotty teased, in a good mood himself. With the worst of the achitectural math out of the way, his disposition had improved considerably.

"I'm just thinking about the looks on all of their faces when we came trotting in with our finished math. I mean, you could just smell the stench of anguish." Jerry stopped outside of another theater. "I'll catch up to you three later, and we'll see what we can get done before break."

Corry grinned, waving. "Thanks, Jer." Albright had just peeled off to chase after his girlfriend Joyce, and the entire atmosphere at the academy had taken a turn for the better... it might have been the rain pausing for a break, but it was more likely the vacation prospect. Tossing a glance at Scott, he asked, "Ready for another stretch?"

Scotty thought about it for a moment, shifting his books from one arm to the other. "Honestly? Nu uh. But I can do it."

"We still have that whole bottle of Scotch to celebrate with..."

"Aye, but we have class tomorrow, too."

Corrigan shrugged, but let it drop at that. "What're you doing over break?"

"Mum wants me home for Christmas. You?"

"Eh, same here. Care to hang out for New Years?"

Scott stepped out of the building, holding the door open with his foot for Corry, mulling the idea over. "Aye, why not? But you come home with me this time..." he shrugged, "give ye a chance to meet my family."


	5. Part 1: Balancing Equations: Chapter 4

_Chapter 4:_

_Saturday, December 31st, 2242  
Unmarked Lane in BFE  
Outside of Aberdeen, Scotland, Earth_

The moment he got there, Corrigan understood all of a sudden exactly why Scotty had been so nervous first walking up to his house in Maine. It wasn't so much the uneasiness of being in a strange place... in this case, on a dirt road a good several miles from Aberdeen proper, half-secluded in the woods, a stiff wind blowing out of the North, and the underlying smell of another country all together. No, it wasn't that, it was knowing that you were going to talk to people who you didn't know, and try to make a good impression because that was what was expected of you by your best friend and co-conspirator. That was why he stood outside of the brightly lit house for a good twenty minutes in the cold, mustering his courage.

The house itself was two stories of stone and wood, and the windows glowed in a cheerful welcome. All around were people's vehicles, and that alone was an odd lot, from an actual shuttlecraft off in the clearing to the right to a horse-drawn carriage. Laughter occasionally drifted out from the cracked door, and every once in awhile a shout was heard for something or other.

So he took his time getting up his courage, trying to figure out how he would fit into Scottish customs, since from what he had heard, they were far flung and varied. He paced, rubbing his hands together, and hoped for salvation.

"So ye plan on standin' here all night, just bidin' yer time?"

Corry turned on his heel, raising an eyebrow at his roommate who had snuck up in the shadows. "I'm... I'm just admiring... I mean, I'm taking a breath of fresh air. Long ride here, you know."

"Aye, right." Scott stepped over, sticking his hands into his pockets. "I dinna think ye'd make it."

"Didn't," Corry corrected, though more jokingly. Near a year ago, he'd been more serious about toning down that accent - now it was habit. "And I did."

Scott twitched at the correction, probably suffering flashbacks to when he was being stopped every sentence. "Sorry, _didn't_. And speakin' of, my cousins decided to tell me I was talkin' odd."

Corry grinned. He counted that as a success. "Yeah? Well, that just makes my day. But I haven't quite succeeded in getting you ostracized yet."

Scott smirked at that, briefly. "I've ostracized myself. Mum went and put me in charge o' watchin' the whole lot o' brats. And while they may well be bonnie lads an' lassies every other day, they've been eatin' pure sugar all evenin'." Tossing a glance back at the house, he grinned wickedly. "I'm in no rush to get back in."

"Makes two of us, then," Corrigan muttered, leaning on the fence that lined the driveway. "Anything I should know before going in there? Like... greetings, or um... and do I have to eat haggis? Or wear a kilt? Or do some sort of weird sword dance?"

"What?" Scott shook his head, amused, and leaned closer. Dropping his voice to a conspiring whisper, he confided in perfect deadpan, "Corry, whatever book ye read tellin' ye this muck... throw it out."

Corry frowned. "But I thought-"

"Know what she made? Steak an' potatoes, oysters, um... Chaudre de l'Atlantique au saumon-"

"Huh?" Corry asked, trying to ignore how the French was utterly butchered.

"Salmon chowder. French salmon chowder."

"Like chowder as in _New England Clam Chowder_? Red or white?" This was already beginning to look a little brighter. Corrigan was almost sure he would have to go through arcane rituals, and now someone was presenting him with a sort of homelike dish.

"White, and it's somethin' like that, aye," Scott admitted, with a barely concealed smirk.

Corry thought about it for a moment. "So I won't have to eat haggis?"

"Nooooo."

"And you have something like clam chowder?"

"Aye." Glancing to the door again, then back at Corry, Scotty raised his eyebrows. "Ready to give this a try, or should I go and slay a sheep first, bathe in its blood and chant a spell to keep the demons away from ye?"

"I think I'm ready." Corry steeled himself as well as he could, walking towards the house. He wasn't sure what he expected when he opened the door, exactly, but he certainly noticed that there were people everywhere. _Everywhere._ Older people, people his age, children... it was a madhouse. Backpedaling slightly, he ran into his roommate, who gave him a shove. "Uhhhh..."

"Chicken."

"Am not."

Scott rolled his eyes in exasperation, leaning on the doorframe and pointing. "All right, we'll start nice and easy. That's my mum Caitlyn back there, the one dishin' out soup. She's the reason we're eatin' French food. And over there's my father, Robert. He's an artsy type... does interior designin'. The bitch he's talkin' to... pardon the language, is Callie. She's my sister, and thinks she's the best thing to come to the art community since Monet. Still with me?"

Corry nodded seriously, filing the names in his mental cabinet. Caitlyn - angel, Robert -artsy, Callie - bitch. "Still here."

"Those're the important people, since they'll still be here tomorrow mornin' when we're hung over and in foul moods." Smirking slightly, Scott nodded to a middle-aged woman sitting on the couch, surrounded by children of all sizes. "That'd be Colleen, one o' my aunts, and that brood beggin' her for candy consists of... in no particular order, mind ye... Mary, William, another Robert, Tara, Heather, Heck... I still think he was named as a joke... Fiona, Kathleen, and Abigail. Now, they don't all belong to her... some're Stuarts, a couple o' McGowans, one or two Scotts."

"Is that all? Please say that's all," Corrigan whimpered, just trying to remember a few of those names - and that was only about a fourth of the people actually in the room. He was suddenly glad his family was so contained.

"No, we still have the rest o' the aunts and uncles..." Apparently feeling some pity, Scott grinned. "But I'll let ye take a-"

"Montgomery! Who've ye got there, lad?"

"-break." Taking a deep breath, Scotty shrugged at Corry and started weaving his way through the people, trying hard not to step on any children who happened to be underfoot. After looking back over his shoulder to make sure his hapless roomie was following, he made his way to the back table where his mother was. "Mum, this is Corry... er, Andrew Corrigan, my roommate at the Academy."

"Oh, I'm so happy to meet ye!" She seemed to be, too. She practically beamed. "Ye know, it's really good Monty has a friend, he was always so _shy_-"

Scotty wasn't quite able to stifle a tortured wince. "Mum..."

"Ne'ermind, Montgomery, ye just be a good lad and get a few more bowls from the kitchen."

"Aye, Mum," Scott said, with a sigh, slinking off down the dark hallway towards the other brightly lit room.

Corry resisted the urge to smirk, though some part of him winced in sympathy. But it was kind of nice to see the tables turned somewhat, and he offered over his best schoolboy smile to Caitlyn. "Ma'am, it's a pleasure. And this chowder smells just terrific."

"Ye mean that? Here, let me get ye a bowl, ye poor thing, ye must be starved after flyin' over here from Maine." Smiling in turn, she went to ladling out some of the white soup.

Taking the few seconds to get his bearings, Corry finally relaxed. Aside from the hustle and bustle of so many people, the house itself was very warm and lively. It wasn't as brightly lit as his parents house, sort of mellow lighting, and a fire was burning in the stone fireplace. Every spare piece of furniture was in use, and it seemed like everyone was relaxed - just a rather large family gathering.

Taking the bowl that was offered to him, he smiled thankfully at Caitlyn. Christ, it was almost uncanny how much Scotty looked like his mother... same coloring, same lines. It wasn't hard to see who had inherited what from whom. "You're a professional chef, right?"

"Aye, spent my whole life cookin'. Monty told me ye hailed from Maine, and I thought ye might like somethin' that reminded ye of home a bit. Been meanin' to try this out, it's a little diff'rent from what I use to make on tour." Pausing for a moment to fix a lock of hair that had fallen loose from the bun, she looked around the room. "And speakin' of, where's that boy gotten to? He's such a good lad, but it doesna take much to distract 'im."

Corry nodded at that, though in the back of his mind he was wondering where she got that from - trying to distract Scotty when he was working was like trying to get blood out of a stone. Admittedly, it still remained one of Corry's favorite hobbies. He took a bite of the soup, then asked, "Want me to go find him?"

"If ye like. Kitchen's just right down there."

Nodding smartly, Corry took his bowl with him as he made his way back towards the kitchen. Stepping in, he didn't immediately find the other cadet... well, until he looked around the corner of the counter and found him fiddling with the garbage incinerator. "Your mother's looking for you."

"In a minute," Scott replied, distractedly, sitting back for a moment to squint at the readout panel. "I _just got_ this thing workin' a few days ago, and the cheap piece o'... nevermind." Taking a moment to sigh with an expression that could only be described as 'henpecked to bloody ribbons', he looked back up at Corrigan. "Bowls, right?"

"Yeah. I'll get 'em if you want, though."

"Ye'd have my eternal thanks."

Corry chuckled, shaking his head and searching through the cabinets until he found the bowls that matched the one he left on the counter. "You look like you need to get out of here."

"Understatement o' the century there."

"So what're we gonna do?"

Scott stood, brushing his hands off and leaning on the counter, thoughtfully. "I was thinkin' that if we decided to avoid runnin' around the whole o' Aberdeen with the family, we could be smart lads and spend Hogmanay doin' a little... how to put this politely?... ditchin' the relatives and gettin' stupid at the pubs."

"Hmmm... hang out with your brood or go drink, hang out with your brood or go drink..." Corry grinned, a grin of complete mischievousness. "I think I'll take option B."

"Aye, I thought ye might."

Corry finished the chowder while Scott took the bowls out to his mother. It wasn't that he would have minded going around and doing whatever they were supposed to be doing, but after seeing just how many people were there, the idea of branching off seemed a lot more appealing. He crossed his arms, waiting until Scotty made his reentrance, looking even more henpecked than before... if that was possible. "Clean getaway?"

"Clean as it gets, in this house." Buttoning his jacket, Scott tossed a glance to Corrigan. "Ready?"

Corry shrugged, standing up straight. "Ready as I'll ever be."

* * *

"So, here I was, took off like a bloody fool in the middle of a gale... a'right, wasna the middle o' the gale, but the wind was kickin' up. An' me, bein' the patent idiot I am on occaaaasion, jus' stayed aloft, clingin' to the bar for dear life." Downing what had to have been his umpteenth straight shot of Scotch, Scotty leaned on the bar with a distinctly plastered look. They still hadn't made it into the actual city, having stopped off at one of the smaller roadside taverns for just one drink. That was several drinks ago, and not even a full hour; they had started the night pretty much like that had every time they'd gone pub-crawling - basically leaping into a wager on who could drink more quicker and still remain standing.

Corry laughed, shaking his head and pushing his hair out of his eyes. "Didja land safe?"

"Nooooooo, oh no, nu uh. I'm really..." Nodding a few times and trying not to giggle, Scott leaned closer, whispering, "...dead. As a doornail." Sitting back again with a bright grin, he continued, "O' course I landed safe. Right smack in the middle of a bale o' hay, had to wade through cattle, an' got home stinkin' to high Heaven. Was a right bonnie trip, that."

"I once took the boat out alone in a storm." Corry nodded as well, with a seriousness that was bordering goofiness, draining his own glass and gesturing for another. "Was all kinda windy out there, white capped waves, and here I was on a skiff getting the hell beat outta me. Made it back alive, though, unlike you."

"Aye, poor dead me. I'll drink to that."

"And I'll drink to being alive."

Picking up his shot, Scotty took it in one belt, which was no doubt less painful this late in the festivities. Slamming the glass down on the bar, he looked at the clock - almost 2200, and they still weren't even into the city itself. "We haveta go."

"I dun wanna move, though." Corrigan complained, though he pulled himself up off of the barstool reluctantly. "Tell me again why we took horses?"

"Couldna convinced anyone to let us take a real vehic... ve..." Not quite able to get the word right, Scott finally settled on, "ye know."

"Ayuh." Tossing down a handful of credits and not even bothering to count them, Corrigan half-walked, half-staggered out to the tree where they had tied the two horses they'd hijacked quite slyly from the carriage. Looking up at the largish beast, he tried to figure out how to climb up, what with riding bareback like that. Hard enough when he was sober, but now that he was officially getting just a bit tipsy, it proved to be impossible. "Can't we just lead 'em?"

"Ye wanna walk?" Taking the bridle and half using it for support, Scott led his steed (the put upon beast that it was) over to the steps of the tavern. After about three tries, he succeeded in getting up onto the horse's back, and promptly gave Corry a smug little look. "See? Easy as can be."

"Smartass."

"Just c'mon."

Following the other cadet's example, Corry took his few tries before clambering up. Taking the reins into his hands, he looked down both ways of the darkened road, pretty oblivious now to the cold wind that was still powering down from the North. "Which way?"

"Thattaway," Scott said, nodding proudly towards a footpath into the woods. "I know a short... short..."

"...shortcut?"

"Aye, that."

"Is that a good idea?"

"Ye wanna get there before midnight, right?" Pulling on the reins and bringing a whole new meaning to the term drunk driving, the Scotty headed for the path, singing some barely-coherent Gaelic-sounding tune. After a moment, still not sure it was a good idea, Corry followed.

* * *

"We're lost." And forgotten, and with no hope of rescue. Corrigan was getting a little more clear-headed by that point, at least clear enough to notice that the path they had been on was long gone and it was a bit chilly out there. Add in the fact that the horses were about ready to declare a strike, and it was starting to look bleak.

"We're not lost, just..." Scott pulled his horse up short, looking around blearily, thinking more and more about his nice, warm bed. "Tempor... uhm, misplaced."

Corry shook his head, then took to surveying the area again. The moon was out, which shed a little light into the trees, but that didn't offer much in the way of direction. "Is all of Scotland this sparsely populated?"

"Nu uh... we shoulda come 'cross somethin' somewhere by now. Unless we're goin' in circles." Which was possible. He was an engineer, afterall, not a navigator.

"Time is it?"

"Dinna know."

"Great."

"Mum's gonna murder me... aye, she'll just string me up an' that'll be the end o' that." Leaning over the horse's neck for a moment, Scott groaned. He could see it - they stagger in after several days lost; bruised, tired, and too weak to run away - and then... "I'm a dead man."

Corry laughed. "We established that, didn't we?"

Shooting an irritated glance back, the other cadet sat up straight again. "A'right, really dead this time. Double dead."

"I won't let 'er kill ya. Who'd design the ship if you bit it?" Corrigan nudged his horse up until he was along side Scott. "Besides, you're only my best friend. And think about it! How many Starfleet cadets can say that they got lost in the woods on horseback, drunk, and lived to tell about it?"

Taking advantage of the setup, Scott lowered his voice to an almost sinister level, eyeing Corry with a wicked look, "Who says we're gonna live?"

Frowning, Corrigan held the gaze. "Of course we're gonna live. Someone's bound to find us."

"But how soon?" Having all too much fun, the younger cadet set his horse to a slow walk, circling Corry. "Ye know, there're stories of all sorts in these parts. In fact," Scott continued, lowering his voice further still, until it was just above the sound of the wind in the trees, "once I heard 'bout this group o' highwaymen... y'know, the men who useta jump from the trees and cut the throats of innocent travelers."

A little spooked, either because of the booze or because his friend was very good at taking advantage of bad situations, Corry swallowed hard. "That's bullshit. There haven't been reports of highwaymen for centuries."

"Oh, but ye never know, do ye? Maybe they're just waitin'... waitin' for someone dumb enough to wander away from the lights, away from the safety o' the city..." There was nothing quite like abusing someone's drunkenness. And cultural misconceptions. "Common 'round these parts, all the way up past the third world war, ye know. Cut-throats, radioactive mutants..."

"If there were highwaymen, they'd never bother with two cadets," Corry tried, lamely.

"Waitin' in the trees, watchin' for a chance to leap down-"

Something rustled in the brush, and that was all the influence Corrigan needed to lose his entire sense of reality. He kicked the horse in the side, probably by accident, held on by what could only be the sheer force of fear when it reared up, and only just managed to grab onto its mane in time when it took off at a full gallop.

While watching Corry get repeatedly slapped in the face by woodland brush was good, he couldn't very well be left to find his way anywhere by himself, so Scott took off after him. At least he had the sense to avoid the worst of the branches, though; he counted almost fifteen pained 'ow's' before Corry managed to get his horse back under control.

Scott stopped his only a moment or two behind. "Cor... oh, God, the look on yer face..." Dissolving into giggles again, he almost fell off the horse.

Corry glared ice chips, slipping down and breaking off a thin branch from a sapling nearby. "Just keep laughing, because I'm about to seriously hurt you."

"It was a stick... I threw a bloody stick, and ye lost yer mind." Having no clue what was up with the sapling, Scotty was still damn amused with himself. Afterall, if you couldn't take advantage of your drunk buddy and scare twenty years off of his life, who could you take advantage of? He was sure it wouldn't work, but apparently the timing, the whistling of wind, Corry's already odd misconceptions about Scotland, the alcohol and the entire mood all worked together for this little masterpiece.

Swatting the other cadet across the arm with the branch, Corry waited until the yelp quit echoing before saying, "Well, you have your stick and I have mine."

"I'm not apologizin'..." Scott said, then whimpered and fell back to rubbing at his arm. That'd leave a nice welt, he was sure. "Ye dinna have to get mean about it."

"You scared the Hell outta me!" Corrigan had an obvious debate with himself, raising the branch again, then apparently decided he had gotten the point across and dropped it. "Now, before we get into any more trouble, do you have any idea where we are? Or what time it is?"

"No," Scotty answered, fairly well sobered up himself now. Relatively speaking, anyway, compared to what he had been. "I suppose if we head in one direction, we should end up somewhere."

Corry nodded, dragging himself back up onto the horse's back and taking the reins in hand. He held a hand over his heart for a moment, then gestured. "All right, lead on."

"Turn my back on ye? Ohhhh no, by all means."

"You know your way! I don't!"

Raising an eyebrow, Scott asked, "Ye sure? We are lost, afterall."

Corry rolled his eyes, nudged the horse into a walk, and took the lead.

* * *

It was the booms of the fireworks going off in Aberdeen, signaling the new year, that finally gave them the right direction. Of course, by that point, they were both too cold and tired to think about turning around and heading into the city, so they simply sang a few verses to _Auld Lang Syne_, talked back and forth about the great days gone by, and came to the conclusion that this jaunt would probably be remembered simply because of its relative stupidity.

So when the lights of the house came back into view, and the two cadets trudged their tired horses up the lane, it was a welcome sight. One of those, 'you're still alive no matter how stupid you've been' sights, which generally greet the baffled, the moronic, and the young and foolish. They had fulfilled at least two of those requirements, and were close on the other two.

Most of the vehicles were gone, though the carriage that the horses had come from and the shuttlecraft in the field were still there. Shaking his head, Scott slid off of his horse and tied the reins to the fence, close enough to the water trough that had been set up for them. He wasn't particularly bothered by missing the celebration in town - the stunt he had pulled on Corry was more than worth it. If he were an artist, he would have been tempted to paint the scene.

"My butt's gonna hurt for a month," Corrigan complained, following his friend's example. "I've never ridden a horse that long."

"Well," Scott said, amiably, "if anyone tells ye it's like bein' with a woman, ye c'n tell 'em to take a hike."

"That's pleasurable. This isn't."

Shaking his head, Scotty chuckled and headed for the house. He had been riding for years, but had since fallen out of the habit. Morning would probably show just how much, and how many muscles he'd abused. Tossing a glance back over his shoulder, he paused to let Corry catch up, just about ready to toss this night up to experience.

So when the gut-wrenching, blood-curdling, almost inhuman howl came, it was more like being dipped in engine coolant. That instantaneous, frozen reaction of the damned, the cursed, the confused. The horror as it all came to play out, the figures that glowed eerily, the gibbering nonsense, the black-painted faces...

...the hard thud as the two cadets slammed into the ground.

Terrified beyond all possible description, Scotty couldn't even manage a cry of fear. The world had just turned into something surreal, though the logical part of his mind (the part that wasn't working) might have told him that there was nothing to panic over. As far as he was concerned, panic was a good idea, but by the time he realized that, he was already pinned to the muddy ground and a somewhat familiar voice was all too jolly above, "So what d'ye think we should do t' our horse thieves 'ere?"

The other voice, the one above Corry's muffled shouts for help, heavenly or otherwise, replied, "Oh, I dinna know. Skin 'em, maybe?"

"Aye, that'd work mos' times. Wouldna learn anything that way, though."

"D-do... do I get a vote in all o' this?" Scott asked, albeit timidly, once he finally got his breath back.

"'Course not." Grinning merrily, the man stood up and offered a hand down.

Taking the hand, the cadet pulled himself up, not really surprised that he was shaking from head to toe now. Looking over at Corry, it was a little bit of a reassurance to find him in the same condition; muddy, confused, shaking, and otherwise a little dazed. It took another minute to find his voice again. "Cor, these.." pausing for a moment, he tried to find a polite word instead of a curse, "_gentlemen_ happen t' be my uncles."

"Wonderful family," Corry murmured, blue eyes still wide.

"Charlie's the name, lad," the one who had Corry pinned said, grabbing his lifeless hand and shaking the hell out of it. "The horses ye decided to _borrow_ happen to be mine."

"N-nice to meet you."

"This one's Edward," Scott muttered, gesturing to their other assailant. "Mum's brothers, an' both a bit wrong in the noggin."

Edward frowned, swatting his nephew upside the head. "Watch yer tongue, Montgomery. We prob'ly saved ye a chewin' from yer mother."

"A chewin' would be preferable to bein' scared gray!" Scotty protested, though not nearly as seriously as he would have liked. "Were ye just layin' in wait?"

Charlie grinned, oblivious to the way Corrigan cringed when he threw an arm across his shoulders. "We saw ye ridin' back the road... just got here maybe twenty minutes ago. Thought we'd don some warpaint and give ye a proper greetin', o' sorts. O' course, lad, if'n ye want us to tell Cait what happened-" Seeing Scott blanch white, he chuckled, "Well, we dinna tell 'er yet."

"So how 'bout we just use this as a learnin' experience? Ask before ye borrow a man's horses." Quite satisfied with the way it was all playing out, Edward nodded smartly and headed back for the house, basically leaving it at that.

Certainly not about to argue, for fear of incurring motherly wrath, Scotty waited until both men were out of earshot before leaning on the fence with both hands and taking a few good, deep breaths. "Unfair."

"If you wanna call foul, I'll deny knowing you," Corry replied, leaning beside his roommate, likely trying to come to grips with his second scare of the night. "Man... I'm half tempted to just hop the shuttle back to Belfast tonight. At least I know I'm safe on campus."

"Take me with ye, if ye do." Looking back at the house, Scott nodded to himself. "I love 'em, Cor... but ye know that old sayin', 'too much of a good thing' an' all that."

Nodding emphatically, Corrigan had no problem agreeing, "Aye."


	6. Part 2: The Lady Grey: Chapter 1

**Part 2: The Lady Grey**

* * *

Y'know I find it hard...  
I always tried to find the sane life...  
But I don't like the way things are,  
And I keep falling to my knees,  
Somewhere in the middle of this.

-**Dishwalla**, Somewhere in the Middle

* * *

_Chapter 1:_

_Friday, February 3rd, 2243  
Malone Road Dormitory, Room 17  
Starfleet Engineering Academy  
Belfast, Ireland, Earth_

The still-quiet streets of Belfast had been a relief to the two cadets. It wasn't a tangible thing, like a well-worn sweater, but it was comforting nonetheless. It had effectively been Corrigan's home for almost four years, minus holidays and personal leaves. He knew the streets, the little shops to get food that wasn't designed to kill your morale, the brick dormitories and the docks. He had grown to love Ireland, despite complaining heartily about the weather, and though Maine was always his first home, Belfast was most certainly his happy second.

It hadn't even taken a day for them to fall back into their traditional habits and routines. Some cadets hated leaving home to come back, and some took a good week or two to settle back in, but Corry and Scotty weren't among that sect. After waking up in some pain, drinking enough coffee to send an elephant into spasms and working halfheartedly on the schematics for the project, night found them on their respective sides of the room, pursuing their respective relaxation. The next day was basically the same, and since class didn't start until the third, it was all good.

When classes did start again, it was with the smooth transition of Starfleet. A new year didn't mean much to the top brass, aside from the fact that they had to type a different date into the computers when they filed the paperwork. It was a little more sentimental to the students - a new year, a new start, a new chance to take a step towards the stars. The senior cadets were usually the most excited, putting in for their internship positions on whichever ships they wanted to serve - most of them aiming for the newly commissioned _Constitution_-class, of course. The best among them would get it, and then it'd go down the line.

Scott didn't have much to worry about. He was the valedictorian. He had a choice of anywhere he wanted to go to serve, and already knew what ship he wanted. That was his brass ring.

Corry was still plagued by misgiving about leaving Earth behind to join the ranks of the stars. No matter how much he tried to get excited about the prospect of leaving his home planet and exploring the outer reaches of the galaxy, he just couldn't manage to. He was worried about going up there - even engineers on one of the big ships were knocked off regularly by alien attacks, equipment errors, being assigned to landing parties. Dying was a big problem, but the idea of some subspace message informing his family of his demise was just awful to think about.

So he set his sights closer, and concentrated on the schooner. They had their schematics in well in time for the deadline, the materials were delivered, the models were built quickly and efficiently, and they were ready to start laying the keel.

* * *

The model that they kept in their room was more for looks. It hadn't been built to be used in the actual process, and the cutaways and such were kept in the mold loft at H&W shipyards, berth #22. But this was their personal copy of what the ship would look like, and since it seemed like ninety-nine percent of their free time was spent working on it with the other cadets, they deserved it.

She was narrow-bodied; slim and with a deeper draft. The foremast stood shorter and the mainmast taller, the fore-and-aft rigged sails simple enough to handle with the minimum number of crew, even taking account their sheer area. She had a quarterdeck (Corry's insistence), a maindeck and then the below decks and bilge. It had taken the four members of the design team and three more commandeered cadets from the construction team a week solid, every day for hours, working on her plans and the work had not been in vain.

The name she ended up getting, though, was the direct influence of the cloth used on the model's sails. Having nothing else to work with, Scotty had decided to sacrifice one of his older uniforms and so she ended up with gray sails. It hadn't taken long for Corry to start calling her the _Lady Grey_... first named for her sails, and as an afterthought (for the sake of explaining it to Barrett) for the unwilling nine-day queen. The name stuck... it had a nice smooth flow to it, and it was unanimously decided to keep it for the christening.

"You know, I've thought about it and thought about it," Corry said, tapping his pencil against his temple to emphasize, "and now that we're actually gonna build this thing, we're pretty well-researched, and ready, we still have no clue what to do with her."

"Do? Hopefully set her floatin' an' collect a nice grade for the effort," his roomie replied, sitting on his bunk indian-style, scrutinizing the model with an intensity only an engineer could be blessed with. "I don't know what else there is to do."

Corrigan grinned, taking the conversational setup. "There is something... We could finish and then learn how to sail her."

"I'm an engineer, not a sailor," Scott pointed out, not taking his concentration away from the model.

"Can't be both?"

"I suppose I could, but ye have to remember one vital piece of information, Cor... once we finish this, it'll be June and less than two months before we ship off for internship. Not much time to learn. Plus, what makes ye think Starfleet would even let us? They're frontin' the bill."

"Welllll, I already know how to sail smaller boats, and I'll bet fifty credits that there're at least a few other people on the team who can sail... I think we can pull it off. I mean, even the higher ups can't really begrudge us a chance to sail what we built."

Scotty finally looked up, an amused grin crossing his face. "We've not even laid the keel down yet, and ye're already plannin'. Don't count the telarrians before they hatch."

"I'm not. I'm counting chickens."

"Almost the same thing."

"Except one's green."

"Tastes like... chicken!"

Corry laughed, shaking his head and laying back on his bunk. "Now there's a saying that's been around since the dawn of time."

"Probably because it's so bloody true. Think about it... man goes off inta the stars, carryin' the hopes for all mankind. Comes across the first planet he sees, lands, decides to kill himself some wild game, just for a change o' pace. And, since chicken taste happens to be a universal constant, what's it taste like?"

"Chicken!"

"Aye. And that's why we still say that everything tastes like chicken," Scott said, matter-of-factly, finally setting the model aside and picking up the tentative construction schedule they had worked out earlier. He still wasn't entirely thrilled with the whole process, with how time-consuming it was, but every time he considered complaining he likewise thought about incurring the wrath of Corrigan, and decided that it wasn't worth it. Being chewed to within an inch of his life was better avoided. "I don't think we have that much to worry about, though. Four months should be more'n enough, even with our manpower."

"Yep, that it should," Corry said happily, standing up to go to his desk, where the light on his computer monitor blinked that he had a message. "Long as no one mutinies, anyway."

"Eh, we'll make 'em walk the plank or some other such nonsense." Trying to picture that, Scotty grinned. He wouldn't mind building the ship just so he _could_ make someone walk the plank; the complete absurdity of it would be good for a laugh at the very least. Still, he didn't think anyone was going to mutiny - so far, everyone had taken a liking to the _Lady Grey_ because she was such a break from the norm. Even he didn't outright hate the work he was doing now that he'd gotten past the initial brainstorming. From here, it was more manual labor, making the parts fit the theory, making something that could float and carry herself by the power of wind. He still would have preferred matter and antimatter, or plasma, or maybe even nuclear power, but wind would have to do. It wasn't like he had a choice in the matter.

The click of the monitor turning off had an odd sound, one that rang a bell in his subconscious and gave him pause from his pirate notions to look up. Then he realized, more instinctively than not, that it wasn't the click that was wrong but something else, something that changed the entire feeling of the room in less than a second, and the look on Corry's face backed it up. "Somethin' wrong?"

Corrigan blinked a few times, as though he'd forgotten he wasn't alone. "Uh, yeah... I mean, no. I mean, I've gotta go."

Scott raised an eyebrow. Eh? Go where? "What is it?"

Corry didn't answer immediately, grabbing his carryon out of his closet and grabbing his clothes from the top drawer, shoving them into the bag without much regard for their welfare. When he finally did think to reply to the question, he only spared a brief glance at his roommate. "My dad... something's wrong, I gotta go home."

"Anything ye need?" Quick on the uptake, Scott already was up and offering Corry's boots to him. Whatever it was that had so completely stunned his usually talkative pal into this state had to be serious enough to not take too much time with questions of what or why. He could always get those answers later.

"Yeah, get my assignments for me if you can. I'll try'n be back quick as I can be, and if I can't, I'll give you a call." Taking the boots and pulling them on, Corry laced them up quickly and tied them, then stood and grabbed his coat. Not even taking the few seconds to pull it on, he all but dashed out the door.

Scott followed, perplexed and worried by now. He hated the idea of sitting by while something not-good was happening, and that much showed in his voice when he called after his roommate as he headed down the steps, "Corry!"

Corrigan paused a flight down, looking back up. "Yeah?"

"If ye... I mean, if there's..." Scotty tried, basically aiming to reassure and falling short of the mark. Heartfelt sentiments weren't among his strong points.

It must have been clear enough, though. Corry flashed a brief, grateful half-smile. "I know." And with that, he turned and left.

Letting the door slip closed, Scott frowned to himself and walked back to the dorm room. That was certainly odd - in less than five whole minutes, something had changed. Something wasn't right. Shaking his head, he closed the door to the room and went back to sit on his bunk, eyeing the monitor. He could easily crack the code and get the message, whatever it had been, but that would have been a betrayal, and if there was one thing he wouldn't do it was betray his best friend.

So he firmly put that thought out of his mind. It was only a matter of time until he found out, and when he did, he was sure that it wouldn't be that bad... curiosity and worry always made things seem about a million times worse than they actually were. Feeling a little better with that realization, he pulled the construction schedule back off of his desk, where he'd tossed it to help Corry pack. With the leader gone, the project would fall onto his shoulders, and he sincerely hoped that whatever was wrong would resolve itself in time to turn that responsibility back over. He didn't particularly want to lead; that was why he'd been so miserable in command school.

It wasn't the leadership that was weighing on his thoughts, though. It had taken only an hour of jotting down notes on who should work when before he realized that it was something else entirely.

It was too quiet.

After months of being stuck in the same room, good times or no, Scott had gotten so used to Corry's presence that it was almost eerie to not have him there. Certainly there were times when one of them was gone, but there was a strange quality to this silence, like it would be longer than it should've been by all rights. It was too complete... no idle conversation to ignore, no pencil scratching on paper, no clicks on the keyboard, nothing. They didn't have any music tapes to listen to, since mostly they were too busy to just sit around and music was distracting enough when there was work to do. The other cadets had gone to bed, no doubt, or were keeping quiet, so there wasn't even background noise.

Too quiet. Mentally berating himself for being silly, since he'd only been left there alone for a relatively short period of time, Scott went back to working on the schedule. It wasn't like he didn't like being left alone - God only knew how many times he'd been trying to work on something he considered of major importance only to snap at Corry for breaking his concentration. Once or twice, he'd even chased the other cadet out with threats of serious physical harm, which Corrigan always took with good humor. After the initial adjustment period, they just got good at living together.

That was the way it was. But there was no one to get snippy with, and maybe that was the real problem. No one to be annoyed with, no one to get over being annoyed with. No one to threaten to throw his boots out the window... leaning over, he looked at the black service boots where they sat beside his bunk.

"Ye'd think he's been gone a decade, not an hour," he finally said to himself, then smiled slightly. Now he'd fallen to talking to himself, which wasn't uncommon when he was concentrating but was most certainly not something he did consciously.

Being worried was what made it so quiet, though. He didn't know what was going on. Worse, though, the best friend he had was facing something, alone, and he couldn't do anything about it. It made him edgy.

Well, sitting there staring absently at the notebook wasn't going to get anything done, and thinking too hard about something that couldn't be changed wouldn't either. Finally deciding that time would tell, Scott flicked his light off and settled in for bed.

But his thoughts were still an ocean away.

* * *

Corry was actually missing for longer than anyone had expected. That alone had put a slightly rough edge on his roommate, who was no more accustomed to the quiet days later than he had been after the first hour. So, instead of sporadically pacing his room, Scotty spent most of the time until curfew down in the shipyards. It was the only place he really could think of that lent some distraction.

It was on the morning of the seventh day that Scott finally resigned himself that he would have to inform Barrett that he was taking the project over, even if only temporarily. Steeling himself for what he was sure would be a messy situation, he stepped into the hall just as Barrett was wrapping up class for a few first-years. "I'll expect the essay in on Monday. You can either give it to me on tape or on paper, but the formatting should be exact either way. Dismissed."

Waiting for the cadets to filter out, Scotty finally took a deep breath and approached the podium. "Sir?"

"What can I do for you, Mr. Scott?" Barrett asked, glancing up from his desk. "Trouble on the final?"

"No, sir," he answered, taking a few steps closer. "I was... well, I came by to tell ye that Mr. Corrigan's out on personal leave, an' I'm takin' over his duties until he returns."

"All right... anything else?"

"Er... no, sir, nothin' important."

Barrett smiled slightly, finally giving Scott his full attention. "I find it hard to believe you'd come over here just to tell me that you're covering for your friend until he gets back. I _was_ informed, you know."

Uh oh. Searching through his mind for an explanation for something so blatantly obvious - of course he knew that the professor would have been informed, that's just common sense, good job there forgetting _common bloody sense_ - Scotty finally settled on a weak, "I... forgot, sir."

"Forgot," Barrett echoed, smiling a patient, if not amused, smile. "You once rattled off the entire list of specifications for the _Constitution_-class starships from memory to me. I don't exactly see you as the forgetful type."

"A lot on my mind?" The cadet imagined a hole, six feet deep. "The _Lady Grey_, sir... she takes up a lot o' time."

"_Lady Grey_, eh? Apparently you've taken to shipbuilding better than Mr. Corrigan thought you would." Barrett was apparently not ready to let this drop. "So tell me, cadet, how do you feel about being the head of this project?"

Make that ten... no, twenty feet. Scott knotted his hands behind his back, just for the sake of not fidgeting or any other nervous reaction he seemed to have a problem with. "Well enough, I suppose. Sir."

"Your transcripts say you were booted out of Command School," Barrett mused, leaning on the podium and crossing his arms. "They didn't specify why, but I imagine it went along the lines of inability to adjust to command status."

"Aye, sir," Scotty answered, dutifully. Did _everyone_ know about that? "I think I make a better engineer, sir."

Barrett smiled again, a little more reassuring this time. "I'll agree with that. So now you're effectively commanding a crew of nineteen on a project you didn't agree with, your friend is gone for all intents and purposes and you're starting to lose your memory. About right?"

"Aye, sir." If he'd been a better liar, he might have actually tried. But now there was no taking it back.

"Then here's the prize question. How do you really feel about all of this?"

Scott blinked once or twice. He knew damn well how he felt, but he didn't pause to think someone actually might be concerned about that when he was doing all right with his coursework, with the project, with just about everything. "Feel, sir?"

"Feel," Barrett chuckled. "Go ahead, no one's going to bite your head off for being human, unless by some chance you happen to be Vulcan."

"No, sir," Scott answered, with a wry grin. He certainly wasn't unemotional, not even by the most liberal standards. Pulling himself back from the moronic mental image of himself with pointed ears and eyebrows, he finally calmed down a little. "I suppose... well, worried, for one. And put upon."

"Put upon because of your schooner, I take it?"

"Aye, sir."

Looking up at the ceiling, Barrett smiled to himself. After a moment, he looked back at the ensign. "Here's something I want you to think about, and put it somewhere that faulty memory of yours won't discard it. You feel like you're somehow being asked to do something you don't think's important, or act in some way contradictory from what you see yourself as. But," he said, before any protests could be voiced, "that's the nature of wind, Mr. Scott. You can work with it or you can fight against it... but no matter how much you might not like it, you can't change it."

He left behind a very baffled cadet when he walked out.

* * *

Scott was still chewing on that when he went back to the shipyards that evening. Sure, it was some sort of great moral that was supposed to make his entire life make sense... some brilliant insight to be gleaned about destiny, the winds of fate or something else, but he didn't believe in destiny. A man made their own destiny, and if it couldn't be changed, then what was the point of trying?

Damn Barrett for putting something philosophical in a brain meant to work with the technical. Now that would probably be the first thing that came to mind whenever someone started questioning what they would do with their life, and he'd just parrot it back to them even if he didn't believe it.

Like Hell he would.

Unlocking the door to the indoor berth, he stepped in and hit the lighting control. The panels in the walls lit, the panels in the ceiling lit, and the _Lady Grey's_ keel became visible. Well, the start on her keel... it wasn't finished yet, and wouldn't be for at least several more days. Looking at what would be the backbone of the oddest project he'd ever worked on, Scotty tried hard to find some feeling of attachment for the wood and lead. It didn't shock him when he didn't find anything more than a weary resignation that this is what was going to be eating away at his time for the next several months.

Closing the door with a sigh seemed amplified in the long, tall room, he started up the stairs to the mold loft. Maybe there would be something there to distract him from philosophy, from worrying about Corry, from life in general.

The mold loft had taken on the nature of a hide-out for the cadets who worked there. There were a few pinups on the walls, most of them of leggy women with a come-hither look... certainly easy on the eyes, he thought. There was a cooler pushed against the wall by the drafting table, and Scotty took a little bit of joy in thinking about how much contraband they had locked up there. A few bottles of hard liquor under the ice, a hand phaser that someone had 'borrowed' from the security division just because they could in the desk, Jansson's dirty magazines... one good raid in there would have them all demerited to oblivion.

But then, they were left mostly to their own devices, off campus and in charge. He hadn't had quite as much trouble taking over command as he thought he would; his main problem was worrying about the person he'd taken command from. He'd tried to call Corry's house in Maine and didn't get an answer, which chewed at him to no end, and he'd stopped by his room between classes to see if any messages had been left.

So when he first heard Corry's voice, it was with some disbelief. Needless to say, he got over it quickly.

"Hey, chief."

"Cor! Where've ye been? And what happened?" Scott stopped himself before he could ask fifty more questions. He didn't realize how relieved he was, even, until he let that breath out.

"Johns Hopkins and a good scare," Corry said, closing the loft door before sitting down behind the draft table and rubbing at his eyes, wearily. "I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to tell you before now... been a hectic week."

"Eh, I made do." Leaning on the wall, Scotty crossed his arms. "Though I'm damn curious, t' tell ye the truth."

"Well, lemme see..." Closing his eyes, Corry tipped his head back, taking a moment to reply, "Dad was out there on a project... this time, he was with a team who was putting a set of steering thrusters on an asteroid almost entirely made of valadium. It was pretty routine, they were going to get it so it could be guided to a processing station."

"Aye, makes sense..."

"So they get the thrusters fitted when this dust storm comes in. They made it underground safe, and the asteroid was pretty stable. Well, Dad had a microbreach in his EV suit... nothing serious, he sealed it off without a problem before the emergency sensors even sealed off that section of the suit." Taking a deep breath, the older cadet plowed on, "Well, this storm was carrying something, some kind of bacteria or something from God only knows where, and it got into the air circulation system of the suit. Next thing Dad knows, he can't breath right, he's coughing and choking for air, and they have to bring a ship into this mess, emergency transport him out."

"He's all right... right?"

"Yes and no." Corry winced. "They got him stabilized, but everytime they took the respirator off, he started choking again. They warped him back here... even had him transferred to the _Valley Forge_ to get here faster. When I left, he was already back and in the hospital."

Definitely not good. Echoing the wince, Scott basically made himself ask the next question, "Did they find anything?"

"They gave him a full blood transfusion, shot him up with all kinds of antibiotics; he can breathe okay now, but they don't know if it'll get better, or if he'll slip back into whatever this is. Right now, they're doing all kinda tests." Leaning forward and balancing his elbows on his knees, Corry went back to rubbing his eyes. He looked tried out, and frustrated and torn. "He was in quarantine... Mom couldn't even hold his hand."

Face set in a serious frown, Scotty finally willed himself to sit down. So that was the reason; a good reason and a good reason to worry. He had liked Cor's Dad, even though he hadn't had much a chance to talk to him over the break... too busy chasing after Rachel. It was never particularly right when something bad happened to good people - it went against the most basic fabrics of everything decent in the universe. "If there's anything I can do, just tell me."

"Been doing pretty good so far," Corry offered, smiling as well as he could muster. "Looks like you have a good start on the _Grey's_ keel."

"Aye. It's a bitch, though. We mis-cut the boards on Sunday, had to re-cut everything... apparently they didn't understand it was in yards and not meters," Scott said, somewhat glad to have changed subjects. "It's a royal pain, tryin' to work with old-style measurin'."

"Blame Barrett." Corrigan stood up, trying to stifle a yawn and failing. "Well, I think I'm gonna turn in."

Scotty shrugged, grabbing his coat from where it hung on a peg in the wall. "I'll walk with ye... have yer assignments on yer desk, but that can wait till tomorrow." Besides, it was nice to have someone to talk to again, and he'd missed Corry more than he would have admitted, even to himself.

Corry made his way down the steps to the main floor, chuckling dryly, "Maybe I'll switch careers and become a medical student." Opening the door and stepping out into the mist, he waited for his roommate to catch up. "Seems to be all that's on my mind, now."


	7. Part 2: The Lady Grey: Chapter 2

_Chapter 2:_

_Friday, March 3rd, 2243  
H&W Shipyards, Berth #22  
Team C Headquarters  
Belfast, Ireland, Earth_

She was starting to take on the look of a ship, instead of just a long, thick wooden stretch up on the cradle. The foremost seven ribs were up, braced by boards and re-enforced by the ribbands that stretched the length so far, a temporary way to keep everything in line. It required manual labor, she received manual labor, and most of the twenty-man crew who spent their hours working on her went to bed with sore muscles and a sense of accomplishment.

It was getting harder for her head architect to think of her as a complete nuisance, though Scott usually found a reason. The woodnails weren't sturdy enough, or the templates hadn't been calculated quite so far as he might have liked, not making it to the millionth of a decimal. Not that it would have mattered, given the tools they had to work with, but he was by nature a perfectionist, even if it was his own idea of perfection and not everyone else's.

But she was beginning to look like he'd planned, so there was something to be said for her. Pausing for a long moment to scrutinize the barely started structure, he really did wonder what Starfleet would do with her when she was finished. If never crossed his mind - it was when, and that was that. Donate her to one of the remaining maritime schools? Offer her over to a travel agency, where she could join one of the few remaining tallships in making credits on 'historical' cruises?

Historical. Grinning sardonically, he shook his head... they were historical all right. About as historical as flying to Pluto on one of the personnel transports. What would these people do, sit around on her deck while watching the subspace network news, sipping on elaborate cocktails and being served by an Andorian? Oh aye, historical right down to the comforts of home.

Well, he'd be damned if _his_ ship would... be...

Frowning, Scotty stopped pacing the length of the skeleton. Since when did he think of the _Lady Grey_ as his ship? She was an annoyance, that was what she was. No more his than the slip they were building her in. Starfleet owned her. He was just building her. Shooting a glare at the backbone of the schooner, he quite firmly put any thoughts of ownership - literal or metaphysical - out of his mind and walked back to where Corry was pouring over a textbook. "Havin' any luck?"

"Nothing yet," Corry answered distractedly, flipping through a few more pages. He had fallen to reading every medical textbook he could get his hands on. "You practically need a medical degree to understand some of this stuff."

"We're engineers, that's why. We think in terms o' technical," Scott answered, shrugging. He didn't want to get into another medical discussion about bacteria that floated on solar currents from planets long since decimated, or whatever it was. What he really wanted was for the older cadet to take back over on the project... well, eventually. As soon as he was ready.

"Hey!" Jansson's voice echoed, causing the other two to cringe slightly. Of course, he didn't seem to care in that particular moment, bounding over with a very self-satisfied expression. "I just finished the template for the amidships ribs."

Scotty grinned again, just for the sake of it. "Did ye? It'll be a week before we get that far, but those'll go quick enough."

Jansson shrugged, leaning on the wall next to Corry's chair. "Well, at least I know my part's done for awhile. Does that mean you'll cut my hours, sir?" he teased, tapping Corry on the shoulder.

"If you want," Corrigan answered, not looking up.

"What, ye find a girl who'll look at yer ugly mug for any length o' time?" Scott asked, innocently, putting on his best 'pure sugar and spice and everything nice' expression. "I've got a case o' Scotch, if that'll make it easier."

"This coming from the most hopeless womanizer in the world, yep," Jansson retorted, good-naturedly. "The last girl you asked out told you that she might be available when you finally started shaving. And stopped stammering."

"Aye, but at least I didn't have to shave a sheep an' try'n make it look presentable."

"No, you just up and took the sheep out without even bothering to-"

"Hey, if you two plan on keeping this up, take it somewhere else, all right?" Corry said, flatly, finally looking away from the book long enough to skewer both of them in a glance. "I'm trying to read here."

The other two cadets exchanged a brief, slightly surprised look, and Scott frowned. "Corry, ye could put the book down for a minute or two, ye know."

Corrigan sighed, an impatient sound, and closed the textbook. "I could, but I'm not going to. What I am going to do, though, is find somewhere quiet, and you two can toss your sheep-shagging jokes without worrying." Without waiting for a response, he stood and headed for the door.

Jansson scratched his head, looking after Corry. "I think he needs a vacation."

"He needs somethin'..." Scott shook his head, uncertainly. "I wish I knew what."

* * *

He hadn't meant to snap. It was wrong to bite the heads off of your friends, no matter how annoying they got, and Corry pondered on what would prompt him to be so downright foul to Scott and Jansson. It wasn't like they weren't being themselves, just goofing off a little bit, and it certainly wasn't like they didn't deserve to be a little silly. Those two, plus Albright, had shouldered the burden that was honestly Corry's.

Sighing to himself, the cadet tucked the medical textbook under his arm and continued for the dorm. He was so close to finding something. Something that would take the edge off of his anger and inability to stand by while his father lay in the hospital still, something that would make it all right again. Corrigan was no fool - he might not worry himself stupid over grades like Sean Kelley, but that had no bearing on his intelligence, only on his coursework.

The streets were quiet and dark, and he tried hard not to let the feeling of heaviness overwhelm him. It got dark so early, and the lack of sunlight wore even worse than normal, bearing down on his very soul and making everything seem dull and colorless. Still, the air tasted good and clean, there was the underlay of salt that was so much a part of him, and a warm room waiting for him when he made it back. It wasn't an unreasonably long walk, and though the shuttle would have had him back there in a matter of minutes, it was better to walk and think.

Kicking at a stone, he watched the ground. There were at least fifteen different known spaceborne bacteria strains with similar symptoms, and though none of them were what had afflicted his father, he felt certain that he might find a clue or a key there. Closing his eyes in a wash of anger, Corry tried to banish the mental picture of his Dad laying there behind the transparent aluminum, covered in tubes, and of his mother with her hand pressed to the wall, tears in her eyes from all of the worry, the love, the stress. Sure, he was doing better and better by the day, but still.

It wasn't fair. God, it just wasn't right! Why did it have to happen? There was such a sense of injustice there that the cadet couldn't help but feel like someone or something was trying to take away the near perfect life he'd had and replace it with some sort of living Hell. Taking a deep breath, he unclenched his teeth before he could chip them. He'd already chipped one tooth while in a fit of anger, and he didn't feel like doing it again.

Finally arriving at the dorms, he nodded to the security officer on duty, trying not to look too miserable. Taking the short trip to the building, he keyed in his student ID code and stepped in when the door unlocked.

It seemed far too noisy in there, what with everyone back in from their evening out. Weaving his way through the other cadets clustered on the bottom of the stairwell, he headed up to the second floor and unlocked the room door, slipping in and closing it with a sigh of relief. The building was old, mostly kept to historical specs so that it wouldn't clash with this old sector of Belfast, but at least the walls weren't too thin and there wasn't much noise that bled in from the adjoining rooms or hallway. It was good for Corry - he was so tired of people, so tired of everything.

"I need a vacation," he murmured to himself, setting the book on his desk and sitting on the bed for a moment to gather his mental strength before delving back into it. Rubbing at his eyes, he tried to imagine what Scotty must have thought about being snapped at. It wasn't often that Corrigan snapped at his roomie; in fact, usually it went the other way and he was the one being verbally assaulted. He'd seemed taken aback, though, like it was a bit of a surprise... not angry or hurt, just kind of 'huh?' Well, Corry would make it up to him someday, if for no other reason than guilt. Right now, though, he had work to do and information to find, so he took the book in hand again and settled back to pick up where he'd left off.

He'd gone though a good twenty pages, reading with the feverish intensity of an obsessed researcher before he registered the door opening and looked up. "Hey."

"Evenin'," Scott answered, dragging in something that looked like a piece of hull plating from a starship. "Feelin' any better?"

"Yeah," Corry said, offhand, watching the strange proceeding. What the heck was Scott doing now? "Sorry I snapped at you and Jer like that."

"Eh." Scott shrugged one-shouldered after he set the metal down. He stepped out of the room and carried in something else, something that looked sort of like a coil assembly with a portable power source attached. "Find any new information since ye left?"

Corrigan set the book aside, now fully curious about what was going on. "Uh, a little. Nothing that wasn't common sense, though."

Now a long length of cord and a heavy looking bag. "Seems like most o' the medical community states th' obvious. In my humble opinion, anyway."

"What're you doing?" All right, Corry couldn't hold back any longer. What did a sheet of metal, a coil, a power source, a cord and a bag have in common?

"Wait for it." Grinning, Scotty went and retrieved the last of his enigmatic objects, which put an end to the mystery. Setting the last bag on his desk, he went to setting the sheet metal on his workbench, tossing a glance back at Corrigan. "Guess yet?"

"Cooking," Corry chuckled, shaking his head. He should have figured that out from the beginning, but with all of the strange objects Scott had dragged in over the past year, he never knew what to expect. Last time the other cadet had gotten the itch to cook, he'd just up and 'borrowed' the stove from downstairs. Apparently, this time he was intent upon making his own. "What's the occasion?"

"What's the date?"

"Uhm..." It took him a minute to count the days from the last time Corry had bothered to look at a calendar. "March 3rd?"

"Keep thinkin'," Scott said, already working on his homemade range.

Corrigan pondered it for a moment, and when it hit him he could have kicked himself. "Your birthday. Dammit, it completely slipped my mind!"

"Don't feel bad, I almost forgot myself." Sealing the wide coil to the sheet with a heat resistant epoxy, Scott shrugged again. "Like Italian?"

"You don't have to cook for me too," Corry protested, not very persuasively. He'd skipped lunch and he loved Italian. "Isn't this your day to be pampered?"

"No," Scott said, wiring the coil with expert precision. "I _like_ cookin'."

Corry leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms and watching. "You're one of the weirdest people I know. I mean, you cook, you invent, you hang glide... you won't drink wine, you'll fight over Scotch being the best whiskey, but you don't like haggis and you prefer Italian. Did it ever occur to you that your fancies are pretty extreme?"

"Cookin's kinda like engineerin'... put the stuff together and make it work. I tolerate haggis, but Italian tastes better, so I cook Italian. And I don't mind wine, but only with certain dishes, an' never just on it's own. Scotch _is_ the best whiskey, and hang-glidin' is the closest thing I can get to flyin' without a civilian pilot's license," the other cadet replied, easily, still wiring away.

"I guess... but see, I'm from Maine, I like New England clam chowder, I sail... all those are in line."

"Ye like Italian too, ye happen t' have a taste for Anaquarian whiskey, which to me tastes like runoff from a chicken farm..." Scott put a smaller piece of metal he'd had stashed under his workbench on top of the coil, fixed it there, then plugged the wire in. When it heated like he expected, he grinned brightly to himself before finishing the statement he'd started, "I suppose it's all personal taste."

"Yeah, guess so."

"So what's medical research have t'do with engineerin', sailin' and clam chowder?"

Corry frowned slightly, shifting his seat on the bed. "Call it a side hobby."

"Aye, hobby," Scotty said, pulling out a bottle of water and a fairly large pot. "Garlic?"

"Definitely," Corrigan answered, somewhat relieved that the subject had been dropped at that. He hated having to justify himself. "Not making your own sauce?"

"Not enough time. I can make due, though."

"What're you gonna do on a starship, where you can't get any of the stuff you need?"

"Hydroponic gardens?" Scott tried, with a shrug, oiling and salting the water that was now on his homemade stove. "I guess I'm stuck livin' with what their cooks see fit to cook up, or I get good at beggin', borrowin' and barterin' for ingredients."

Corry smiled offhand, watching for a moment. The other cadet wasn't long in getting as absorbed into his cooking as he did into his engineering... putting the sauce on, spicing it up with an assortment of different traditional herbs, adding the rigatoni to the water, working on the garlic bread, and after a few minutes, Corrigan went back to his reading. At least the atmosphere of the room had taken on the easy aire of camaraderie that it had been missing the past couple of weeks.

* * *

"Well," Corry said, lightly, as he set his plate aside, "if you ever get sick of engineering, you could probably make a good living as a cook."

"Mum taught me," Scott explained, long since finished with his dinner and sipping on a glass of good red wine. Italian was one of his admitted exceptions. One did not drink Scotch with Italian. It was a crime. "It was that or goin' with my father on his design trips over the school breaks."

Corrigan grinned, standing and getting himself a glass of the wine. "You'd make someone a terrific housewife someday, Scotty."

"Aye?" Scotty asked, dangerously, picking up a fork and chucking it at Corry. "I'll have ye know that besides Mum, the best chefs in the galaxy're male."

The fork struck Corry in the side of the head, but he was snickering too hard to get angry over it. Maybe if it had gotten him with the prongs he might have paused, but as it were, it just amused him more. "Oooh, did I hit a nerve? Sorry, now I know what to get you for your birthday... just think three words: Pink, ruffled and apron."

"Ye do, an' so help me I'll just wait till ye fall asleep and see what a high powered energy current can do t' the human body," Scott growled, unplugging the wire from the homemade stove with comical exaggeration and waving the end at Corry. "I'd just stick this thing up yer nose, an' watch ye burn."

"Because I compliment your cooking?"

"Because ye insult my masculinity," Scott said, smartly, nodding as though he'd just delivered a particularly good speech.

"Masculinity," Corry echoed, trying and almost failing to maintain a neutral expression. It was a real effort on his part. "Well, I suppose if your self-esteem has survived the cooking lessons and the wearing of skirts, you're not about to lose it over a pink apron."

Scott frowned. "Cookin' happens to be a hobby, not somethin' I do religiously. And a kilt is NOT a skirt, it's a kilt, an' I'll not have ye sayin' anything against it. Besides, I only wear that to formal family events."

"All right, all right," Corrigan said, though he definitely couldn't help the amused and placating tone. Waiting until his roommate gave him a black look and went to cleaning up his homemade kitchen, he picked up the textbook and went back to reading. He did feel better now that he had something in his stomach and a little banter to make up for the past weeks of quiet. He resolved himself to spending less time with his nose in a textbook; maybe that would make the overall anxiety lighten.


	8. Part 2: The Lady Grey: Chapter 3

_Chapter 3:_

_Friday, March 17th, 2243  
Malone Road  
Starfleet Engineering Academy  
Belfast, Ireland, Earth  
_  
Amidships the ribs were finished, and for the first time the construction team for the _Lady Grey_ had found a steady routine. That made all the difference in the speed that she was being completed, and meant a great deal to the heads of the project in that they could see their drawing coming to life.

The actual project leader, though, hadn't stuck too hard to his resolution to spend more time engineering and less time researching modern medicine. If anything, Corry had fallen even farther into his obsession; one night he'd stumbled across a medical journal with an article devoted specifically to categorizing space-borne bacteria, and that was the end of that. Now he only came down to the shipyards intermittently.

Scott took the brunt of the work with more and more consternation every day. Over the past two weeks, he'd gone from being in a reasonably good mood to downright short-tempered, people started actively avoiding him again, and a few of the cadets under his supervision had started to grumble despite making good progress.

Corrigan's temperament wasn't much better - he went from the extreme high of being on a good trail to the anger and frustration of the hopelessness of it, to the guilt of leaving his best friend to take on the duties that weren't his. But he didn't slow down, nor stop. He couldn't, and every single time that he thought about it, he somehow talked himself out of it.

It finally got to a point that Scotty couldn't stand it anymore, but instead of trying to get through to the brick-skulled Corrigan, he just turned around and went to Barrett. Maybe just give a half-concealed plea for _someone_ to step in and make it right. God knew, he couldn't seem to find a way to do it.

Catching up with the commander after classes had ended for the day, he launched into it before he had time to talk himself out of it. "Sir? Could I have a moment of yer time?"

Barrett paused in his walk to his house on the other side of the campus. "Yes, Mr. Scott?"

"I... well, I wanted to talk t' ye about Cor- Mr. Corrigan, sir." Inwardly, Scott winced, wondering why in the name of all that's good he had such a hard time speaking to higher-up officers and why they were so intimidating to him. "He's not worked on the project since what happened with his father, and... I mean, I dinna mind takin' his place, but..."

"But..." Barrett prompted, though from his tone, he already had a good idea of what the situation was.

"But I'm startin' to think it's a bit too much, sir," the cadet finished, a miserable note in his voice. There, he'd buried the hatchet, and it was almost worse than enduring the burden of leadership.

Barrett's frown colored his entire face dark. "Would you like me to remove him from his position?"

"No, sir, I just... I dinna know." Scott shook his head, clasping his hands behind his back and looking at the ground. That was just it: He didn't know, and it was driving him crazy.

"There are only two options. You can lodge a formal complaint, which is the course of action that I suggest, or you can continue to act as project leader and let him get credit for your work." They were harsh words, though Barrett delivered them frankly and without an edge.

"That's it. Two options, and neither of 'em _right_," Scott said sharply, before he remembered who it was he was talking to. Taking a deep breath, he looked back down at his boots. "Sorry, sir."

"I understand that it's a horrible thing to stomach, but what happens when you're on a starship, where everyone depends on everyone else to stay alive?" Barrett's eyebrows went up and he tilted his head, trying to get Scott to look up from the ground. "I know he's your friend, and I know it's against every single heroic ideal you've got, but think about it. This time it's a class project, Mr. Scott, and next time it might be monitoring engine outputs and overload gauges. This time you've got the option, but next time you won't and it could be you, your ship and your crew."

Scott's jaw knotted as he thought about it. It was such plain common sense that it was damn hard to imagine any other course of action. "What would happen to his grade?"

"He'd lose a lot of points, but he could probably still pass so long as he does something between now and then."

"And if I don't file a complaint?" The cadet asked, finally looking back up and meeting the professor's gaze unflinchingly. He was pretty sure he already knew what his course of action was going to be, struck now with one part inspiration and one part desperation.

Barrett smiled a sort of sad smile, no doubt sure himself. "Then this conversation never took place. Just keep in mind what I told you, though, because you're not always going to have the range of choices like you do now."

* * *

By the end of the next week, the ribs of the ship were finished and the tension in berth #22 was so thick that it could choke a person. Even Jansson, who normally was easygoing, started getting edgy. It wasn't long before he'd pretty much cornered Scott in the mold loft to protest. "We've got four cadets saying that if I don't file a complaint against you or Corry, they're just going to up and drop the class."

"So file it," Scotty challenged, raising both eyebrows. He was well aware that the pace he was working the other cadets bordered inhumane, and that this was quickly becoming his own obsession, but there was no backing down now.

"Look, you know I won't do that to either of you, but don't you think it might be a good idea to just slow down a little bit before we lose everyone?" Jansson asked, imploringly. He'd watched Corrigan become a walking ghost of his former bright self, and Scott get even more dark in his moods... if something wasn't done, the ship would be the last thing to worry about.

Scotty sighed, impatiently, and rubbed at his eyes. "I'll make ye a deal, Jer. If we can get the fore crossbeams in by the middle o' next week, I'll cut back the hours and we can take it a little slower. But we need somethin' other'n a couple o' boards supportin' the ribs in front."

"I think they'll go for that. Most of them were taking it pretty well, just not those four. Uhm, Harrison, O'Sullivan, Thylita and Midlinn, if I remember right." Jerry leaned on the wall. "Mind if I ask you something, chief?"

"Depends," Scott answered, forcing a half-smile.

"Why're you covering for Corry like this?" Jansson asked, looking at the other cadet. "Not that I'm complaining, 'cause he's my friend too, but I kinda wanna know what your reasoning is."

Well, that wasn't necessarily an easy answer to come by. There were a few times Scott wasn't entirely sure why himself, though usually those moments of indecision faded back to the determination he was currently working on. Dropping the self-imposed wall for a few minutes, he took a deep breath. "Honestly?"

"Well, yeah."

"Remember when I said he needs somethin'?"

"Yep. Back before he got too distant." Jansson frowned for a moment, and then it was like the proverbial lightbulb and he smiled not a few seconds later. "You're trying to finish her fast, aren't you? So that he'll snap out of this and start being Corry again."

"Think it'll work?" Because in all honesty, Scotty wasn't entirely sure himself if it would. He wasn't really sure of anything. But it was worth a try - Corrigan had just loved the idea of having a real sailing ship; he'd loved the schooner when she was still just lines on a schematic. Maybe when she was whole and sitting in the water, he could fall in love with her all over again. He could maybe remember who he was.

"It's damn well worth a try," Jansson said, nodding emphatically. "Well, I've got your back on it... here's hoping it works."

"Aye... here's hopin'."

Jansson flashed a brief smile and went back to the part of the loft where the templates were kept, and where he was now working on the structure beams. Most of them were already cut for the forward part of the ship, so it wouldn't be too much effort to get them up.

The acting project leader took a few moments to relax, something he just didn't do all that often anymore. Not going back to the dorms had turned into a necessity for Scotty, who had it worked out pretty well. Go back right at curfew, sign in with security, then slip back out once they'd acknowledged that he'd gone into the dorms. Anymore he slept more in the mold loft than he did in his room, and he honestly doubted that Corry even noticed the absence. _"Well,"_ he thought, with a sardonic smile, _"Least he won't be bitchin' about my boots."_

It was a hollow enough thought, though, and he had gotten used to silence again afterall. He wasn't even sure if it was worth the effort, trying to get Corrigan to come back from this land of medical terminology and lab tests. He wasn't sure if it was worth barking orders at a troop of cadets who, though they were obligated to work, weren't obligated to pour heart and soul into his fight. That was why he'd given Jansson the okay to cut down the hours - mostly to keep his workforce and be more fair minded, but some small part of him harbored the fear that he'd become just as lost and obsessive as the person he wanted to save.

No. Just no.

"Mutiny in the ranks, sir," Albright said, sticking his head in the door.

Scott looked up, mostly expecting it to be a joke, but Albright looked dead serious. Well, bloody Hell, they'd finally had enough just when he was starting to tone it down again. Nodding in acknowledgment, he only took a minute to grab his coat and head after Albright, down the steps and onto the main floor.

Sure enough there was a battle brewing, and it looked like O'Sullivan was the ringleader. Damn it all, if this wasn't the last thing he needed on his mind. Squaring his shoulders and doing his best to forget the fact that the stolid Irishman was probably a solid seventy pounds heavier than he was, Scott stepped into the middle of the crowd, going for his best officer's voice. "What's the meaning of all o' this?"

"The meanin', _sir_, is that we're downright sick an' tired of being driven like dogs," O'Sullivan answered, without a trace of hesitation. "Me hands're practically bloody and we haven't had a day off in a week."

"Ye'll get yer day off, soon as the forward crossbeams're up. Anything else?"

O'Sullivan smirked, and without so much as a word of warning took a swing at the shorter cadet. It was by sheer luck Scott managed to duck under that fist, or he might have ended up with a busted jaw on top of everything else. Leaping backwards a pace and running into Albright, he half-snarled, "Aye, real smart there, takin' a shot at another officer. Right good thinkin'."

"That's because ya think ye're just the regular dictator," came the furious answer, and O'Sullivan leapt after Scott for another try. He might have been big, but he was fast and managed to land his punch this time, knocking Scott a good three feet back. "Well, _sir_, maybe ye're not as big as ya think ya are."

Jansson had joined the party by then, and he and three other cadets managed to hold back the irate mutineer and give Scotty a chance to get his feet again. "Should we call security, sir?" Jansson asked, shooting a glare at O'Sullivan.

"Hell no," Scott growled, taking his coat off and flinging it aside. Now it was a matter of pride, and he didn't care if O'Sullivan was built like a EV tank, he wasn't going to let that blockhead win. Besides, he hadn't lost any teeth yet.

"Um... he could turn you into ground meat," Albright said tentatively, looking between the two. "This is not exactly professional Starfleet conduct here."

The two fighters both shot him a look before Scott looked back at Jansson. "Let the jackass go."

"Scotty..."

"Just do it," Scott said, exasperated. Jesus, you'd think these guys had never seen an actual fight before. Centering himself and trying to ignore the solid pain in his jaw, he watched as Jansson and the other three did as they were told.

O'Sullivan didn't seem in any real hurry now that he knew that there wouldn't be any security involved, though. Fairly pleased with the fact he'd landed the first punch, he smiled a toothy smile, no doubt for the sake of anyone else who felt bitter about how hard they'd been worked. A few of the other cadets smiled back, and one or two others looked rather worshipful. After all they'd learned about maintaining discipline in the ranks, it was kind of empowering to see the man in charge get some back for it.

He never saw it coming.

Scotty was a fighter if there ever was one... he'd been in scraps his whole life. He lost a few, he won a few, and eventually most people learned better than to pick a fight with him, because he wasn't afraid of taking or giving pain. While it wasn't all that often he threw the first punch, it was certainly often enough that he threw the last.

So when he'd slammed into O'Sullivan it was with every ounce of weight he had behind it, a silent leap and execution, and the only sound was the hard thud as they both hit the ground, and not more than a few seconds later the cracking of bone.

The rest of the cadets couldn't even find a word. Afterall, what was there to say?

The victor stood up, wincing as he shook out his hand. O'Sullivan, broken-nosed and somewhat stunned, didn't move for a very long moment before crawling back to his feet. There wasn't anything particularly smug about him now, and seeing his own blood dripping onto his shirtfront was enough to take the fight from him.

It was Jansson who broke the silence, asking either or both of them, "Anyone need a doctor?"

Scott just shook his head. His jaw was aching with fierce intensity, but he still had all of his teeth and nothing was broken. That alone was enough of a reason to count his lucky stars; if the other cadet had followed through better, he'd probably be on a soup diet for a few days until the doctors had him properly patched up.

O'Sullivan apparently didn't want to lose any more face, and shook his head as well. "I'll walk on me own, thanks." Shooting Scott a glare and giving him a wide berth, he headed for the door.

"That's the last we'll see of him, I'll bet," Albright sighed, then looked at the rest of the team still gathered there in near silence. "C'mon, guys, back to work."

"Any bets on me spendin' tonight in the brig?" Scotty finally chuckled, wincing slightly through the smile.

Jansson frowned slightly, somewhere between comically serious and honestly serious. "I'll put ten credits on you getting away without so much as a slap on the wrist."

"I'll bet against that," Lewis, one of the construction cadets, said as he picked up the first crossbeam they were going to put up. Grinning apologetically at Scott, he added, "You did break his nose, afterall."

"All bets're good, but I'm hopin' Jerry here's right." Scotty grinned back, stepping over to help carry the board. Maybe he could use the less-depressing attitude in his favor and get some more solid work done. "Well, in the spirit of not losin' any teeth, anyone who wants to go can. Volunteer work only, least for tonight."

The order was passed around, and it kind of surprised him when all but the three who were in with O'Sullivan stayed. It was somehow very heartening to see a rally like that, particularly after all that he'd put those cadets through... from the minute their classes ended to curfew, minus meals, every day for over a week straight. If he hadn't been in charge, he might have gone the way of the mutineer, honestly.

But at any length, the remaining fourteen cadets stuck around, and Scott intermittently worked with the construction team and iced his jaw; he didn't look forward to explaining the bruise the next day, but it was still better than wasting time with the small, rather apathetic medical staff on campus. Security hadn't shown up yet, and he was determined to get as much as he could done before they did.

When the hush fell over the floor of the berth, he was pretty certain it was a troop of guards coming to haul him to the brig. Looking around one of the ribs, he was honestly taken aback when it was Corry.

Corrigan looked a little like he had slept for weeks on end and was just waking up. His hair was longer than he usually kept it, dark circles hung under his eyes, and his overall appearance was just disheveled. He walked across the floor with measured caution; a stranger in their midst, in a way, even if he was supposed to be the most familiar among the crew.

Scott frowned to himself and went back to pounding the woodnail in, breaking the silence, and before long everyone else went back to work, all but ignoring the project leader. He wasn't about to call Corry over, more because he didn't have a clue of what to say rather than because he didn't want to say anything. He did... he wanted to tell Cor to snap out of it, look at the work that had been done, look at what was being done for _his_ sake. But words like that were far too hard to come up with, and Scott had no clue of how he'd even try to explain, so he did what he was better at and worked.

"Looks like she's really going to be something special..." Corry said, uncertainly, once he'd found his way over to his roommate.

"Aye," Scott answered, evenly, giving the nail one last whack with the mallet. Sounding resentful would probably drive Corry back to his little world, and sounding too friendly might do the same. It was a tightrope act.

"I was wondering if you wanted to go and hit the pub before curfew." The older cadet looked along the length of the ship, kind of blankly. "I wanted to celebrate... they released Dad from the hospital, and all, and it looks like the bacteria's gone dormant."

"I would, but I've got a bit left to do here." Pausing for a moment, Scotty balanced himself on the rib. "If ye wouldn't mind waitin' for a half hour or so, I could."

"I guess," Corry said, rather quietly. Looking around for a moment, he finally climbed up onto the keel.

Jansson climbed back up right after him and gave him a smile, then slid around him and tossed the icepack in Scott's general direction. "Head's up, chief."

Scotty ducked under it, only barely catching it in his right hand before giving Jansson a look. "Tryin' to finish the job?"

"I don't know, you have been a bit of a dictator lately," Jerry answered, jokingly, before going back to his post on the starboard side.

"What happened?" Corry frowned, looking even more lost and confused.

"Mutiny!" Scott chuckled, shaking his head and leaning back on the rib, feet on the brace. He tipped his head to show off the darkening bruise along his jawline, then shrugged. "He got it back in spades, though."

"Who was it?"

"O'Sullivan." Scotty put the ice back against his face, not quite able to stifle the flinch. "Up an' broke the bastard's nose. Ye shoulda seen it, Cor... it was like that one fella we got into it with last year."

"I was talking to Dad's doctor," Corry said, as way of explanation. The look he got in answer, though, apparently made him edgy. "What?"

Trying to find the right words, Scott took a deep breath. Back on the tightrope again, it looked like. "D'ye think maybe... well, now that he's feelin' better, ye might wanna spend a little more time down here?"

Corrigan sighed, running his hand through his flop of blond hair. "Just because he's out of the hospital doesn't mean he's out of the woods. Anything could trigger another reaction."

"I'm not sayin' not to be worried, just that... ye know. Maybe it's time to worry about the rest of yer life too? What with yer grades, and..." That didn't sound like it was supposed to. Scott cringed mentally and wished he could build himself a time machine, go back two minutes, and strangle himself before he had the chance to bring it up.

"My grades are okay," Corry answered, a little too quickly and far too defensively. "And I actually helped out, because I sent them an entire list, a whole thirty pages of known strains along with similar symptoms and treatments."

There wasn't any immediate reply that came to mind. Scott couldn't honestly see an engineering cadet making any huge breakthrough that experienced Starfleet medical personnel hadn't already thought of, but he wouldn't say anything. He'd already dug a hole and anything else might end up landing him in it. "Maybe ye should think about goin' to medschool."

"Maybe I should." Corry looked down at his watch. "Hey, we'll go have a drink later. I should probably go back to the dorms and finish my paper for Pearson."

_"Maybe ye should start it, not to mention the last three,"_ Scott thought, but he only said, "Aye, maybe later."

Corrigan nodded, stiffly, and climbed down. He exchanged a few greetings with cadets as he made his way to the door, and then he was gone again.

God only knew when he'd be back. Scotty groaned softly and let his head fall back against the wood. Maybe if he'd tried harder, he could have swallowed his whole leg instead of just his foot. Maybe someone offered tact implants - that would make his life a lot easier. Or maybe he would give that time machine serious consideration and change everything.

"You shoulda gone with him," Jansson offered, helpfully.

The only answer he was given was another groan.

* * *

"It's generally not a good thing when cadets start dropping classes this close to the end of the year," Barrett said, pacing in front of the podium, between that and the three cadets lined up at attention. O'Sullivan had dropped the class earlier that day, his nose force-healed (but still discolored); Thylita and Midlinn had followed soon after. "When I told them they'd have to go through one of their superiors in order to file a formal complaint, they asked to drop the course. Now, the reason for this could be one of two things... they could have asked to file a complaint and were turned down, or they could have been afraid to ask for fear of penalties."

Jansson swallowed hard. He'd been the one they'd approached with their protests. "Well, sir, it's a little more-"

"Is it?" Barrett stopped, looking at the anxious ensign sharply. "Four of you were put in charge of this. Now, normally this would fall on the project leader to explain, but since he's still missing in action, as it were, it comes back on you. If this is the type of behavior you have here, heaven help the ship and crew you get assigned to if you graduate."

"It's not his fault, sir," Scott said, quietly, wishing that talking didn't hurt so much. It might have been worth it, but his face was killing him. "I was the one workin' 'em too hard, and it's my responsibility."

"No, it isn't." The professor sighed, rubbing at his temples with both hands. "The only thing you're technically responsible for is not turning over any complaints you've received. How long do you plan on pulling double-duty? How long do you plan on allowing Mr. Corrigan to abuse your good intentions and the hard work of your team?"

"Sir, I was the one who received the complaints." Jansson looked like he was going to his own funeral, but he'd taken the jump when he'd told Scott he'd watch his back. "By the time they were brought to Mr. Scott's attention, O'Sullivan had already made up his mind."

"Why didn't you act on them?" When he didn't get an answer, Barrett shook his head in profound disappointment. "Loyalty is one of the finest traits a person can be blessed with, but there does come a time when you have to put concern for your crew before concern for your friends."

The three cadets didn't have any answer to that, either. Albright broke his stance to study his shoes, Scott did the same, and Jansson looked downright miserable as he stared at the wall. It wasn't that easy, was it?

After a very long two minutes, where the silence couldn't be cut with a plasma torch, Barrett finally sighed, "All right, standing here in silence won't fix any problems, nor will it make them any clearer. Dismissed."

The relief was pretty thick as they made their way out, though Barrett wasn't apparently quite finished. Waiting a moment while they wound down from the tension, he called, "Mr. Scott!"

The cadet turned on his toe. "Sir?"

"What happened to your jaw?"

"I... uhm, I ran inta somethin', sir."

Barrett couldn't quite keep the amusement from his voice, inappropriate as it was. "Strange, that's what O'Sullivan said about his nose. The senior cadets this year seem to have a clumsy streak in them, wouldn't you agree?"

There was only one answer to give, so with a red face, Scott gave it. "Aye, sir." Without waiting for further comment, he turned and stepped out.


	9. Part 2: The Lady Grey: Chapter 4

_Chapter 4:_

_Monday, April 10th, 2243  
H&W Shipyards, Berth #22  
Team C Headquarters  
Belfast, Ireland, Earth_

The workflow lightened, easing off from the brutal pace Scott had demanded of the crew in order to finish the basic skeleton of the _Lady Grey_. General morale was up, even though there were four people missing. There wasn't any bickering, and the team had solidified quite a bit since the "Mutiny of Berth #22". If they could have gotten Corry back, it might have been a perfect project from then on out.

Corrigan still wasn't back. He vanished for days on end, chewing up all of his personal leave time, then came back with the look of the ignorantly blissful and a sheaf of lab results. He'd put in for a transfer to Starfleet Medical. He had barely exchanged a handful of words with his roommate, who had fallen into a silent, grim stoicism that was more familiar than not.

Lately Scott didn't really seem to have much to say; when he did talk, it was one or two word answers unless it involved something engineering-related, and even then lacked his usual highstrung theatrics. He was still in motion, though - if anything, he'd gone into overdrive.

When he'd cut back the hours for the rest of the team, he'd taken it on himself to pick up the slack as much as he humanly could. There was only so much he could do, physically, but whatever there was he did without a word. When the rest of the cadets left for the evening, he came back to work.

That was how the _Lady Grey_ really came to be something more than just a class project, though Scotty still wasn't ready to admit to himself that she was. What would the use be anyway? If he started to genuinely care about her, then it would be that much harder to give her up when the time came, and dammit, it was bad enough that he was a hairline from losing one thing he cared about. It would be too hard to lose something else.

The sandpaper made a steady scratching sound against the oak, the only noise in the slip. Scott had already cut the boards that were going to be laid the next day, the start of her hull and the start of the next phase of the project, and he couldn't do anything more than sand the beams on her forward section to prepare. There wasn't a need to; the wood was the best quality they could afford to get, and it was already fairly smooth, but he if stopped for one minute, he might start thinking again.

He hadn't heard the door open and close, so when a voice overrode the sound of sandpaper, he nearly leapt out of his skin. "It's a little late to be working, isn't it?"

The cadet turned once he succeeded in persuading himself not to have a heart attack. After almost an entire minute, he managed to say, "Aye, sir."

"You do realize that it's 0200... four hours after curfew," Barrett stated, rather than asked, as he climbed up onto the sliding ways, balancing easily between the ribs. He was dressed in civilian clothes, a peculiar thing for any student to see, but even at that hour looked alert. "I can't quite figure you out, cadet."

"Sir?" Scotty didn't want to get into anything philosophical, but he could smell it coming a mile away. Frowning briefly, he put the sandpaper into his jacket pocket.

"Staying here all hours, working even when there isn't anything to do," the professor elaborated, gesturing at the general area. "Three days and nights, every free hour you've got... isn't it a bit much?"

"No, sir." Scott put his hands behind his back, balancing neatly himself and wondering exactly how Barrett knew how many hours he was spending in the berth.

Smiling a half-smile, Barrett picked up a clean piece of the sandpaper and turned it over in his hands. "Captain Pearson decided to tell me today that your grades were slipping, that I was the reason, and that if I didn't come and tell you to pay attention to your important studies, he'd have to speak to Admiral Pirrie."

Well, that wasn't a good thing. Pearson was known for being a bit irate; Scott had figured out himself that the captain was less than pleased with his performance lately.

_"Are you a Starfleet engineer, Mr. Scott, or an ancient shipwright?"_

_"...a bit o' both. Sir."  
_  
Dragging himself back to the present with a hint of a smirk, he asked, "What did ye tell him, sir?"

"To go pound salt." Barrett gave him a full smile this time. "In those terms. I added that my class was no less important than his, whether it was practical or not, and that you were a good enough engineer to guess your way through his class and get a passing grade. Needless to say, he wasn't particularly pleased."

"I suppose not," Scott chuckled in agreement. If there was one thing he alternatively liked and hated about Commander Barrett, it was his ability to catch a person completely off-guard. Liked it when Barrett did it to someone else, not so much when Barrett did it to him. "Though I seem to remember ye mentionin' somethin' about duty."

"What's the use of mentioning it, if the people I mention it to won't listen?" Barrett shook his head, wryly adding, "You'll figure all of that out on your own, I have a feeling. It would have been nice to have spared you, Jansson and Albright the pain of finding out the hard way, but I suppose some lessons are best left to play out on their own."

"Aye, sir."

"Sanding, eh?" Barrett found himself a spot and experimentally scraped the paper over the wood. "It's been a long time since I've done anything like this. Restored an old cabinet my mother had left behind."

Scott frowned. He didn't really care for company, and Barrett's company almost always meant some sort of meaningful conversation. "Sir, ye don't have to do-"

"Back to work," the commander ordered, evenly. "You were planning on being here anyway, so when 0530 comes around, I'll buy breakfast. And tomorrow night, Mr. Scott, I don't want to see you here... I want you in your room at curfew. If I catch you out tomorrow, I'll actually turn you in."

It took a moment for the cadet to process it, though all he could really say was, "...d'ye ever sleep?"

Barrett looked back over, one eyebrow going up. His face was set in stern lines, worn by age, but there was a sparkle in his eyes that was unmistakably young. "Do you?"

So much for that. With an appreciative grin, Scott went back to his sanding.

Not a word was said until 0530.

* * *

It was a fair enough bargain, and Scott did go back to his room at curfew. Stepping in, he flipped the lights on and tried not to breathe a sigh of relief when he found Corry still away. Even now, after all this time, he still didn't have much he could say... too hard to walk that tightrope. Too hard to watch a friend turn into a zombie, then get chewed out for it when he did try to help, so it was just easier to stick to his original plan.

He unlaced his boots and kicked them off with something approaching extreme prejudice, smirking satisfactorily as one landed in the middle of the floor and one bounced off of Corry's bed and onto the ground by the door. Hell, it wasn't like anyone cared to complain, was it?

Never mind. It wasn't worth getting bitter over.

Leaning back against the wall, he tried to unwind a little. After days on end of being not only awake but working, absent the occasional catnap, he couldn't argue that he wasn't tired out. He felt like he could sleep for a century easily, just let the whole world pass him by.

Grinning sardonically, he shook his head to himself. It was pretty bad when it got to the point where he envied the fictional people of Brigadoon, or the men and women they used to send out on sleeper ships. But how bad was it, to go to sleep and wake up a century later? The advances in technology would make it worth it, right there.

But enough of the technological advances of the twenty-fourth century. Scott leaned over and grabbed the ASD textbook from his desk, trying to force himself into the mindset he would need to research for the latest paper he had due in Pearson's torture chamber... er, class. No easy feat, since he was still stuck on the applications of 19th century shipbuilding. At least they hadn't had any scenarios scheduled aside from the simulations they could run on campus, or he might have been in more serious trouble; it was hard enough to concentrate on the _Lady Grey_ and write technical papers on the latest Starfleet advances at the same time.

The whole process of reading and taking notes evaded him, though. He couldn't make it through a paragraph without completely slipping off into some unconnected thought - for once, Scott couldn't concentrate, couldn't tune into the mindset of a Starfleet engineer. Maybe being worn out had something to do with it; concerned, tired, frustrated, hopeful, thoughtful... too many conflicting emotions and no real energy left to fight them off. After a few minutes waging a losing battle, he threw the book back onto his desk, flopped back onto his bed, and stared at the ceiling.

He wanted to be working on the ship. It was a relief to be able to fall into an effort of manual labor like that, even if it was almost gruesome at times. Holding his hands up, he studied them with a clinical disinterest; worn rough again, scored with dark red crisscrossing lines from knicks and scratches alike. So much of the modern engineering trade required delicate hands-on work, a careful and steady touch. You didn't have to dig wooden splinters out of your fingers on a starship.

Damn her.

Putting his arms back behind his head, Scott went back to giving the ceiling a faint glare. Damn her, not for tearing his hands up, or even for taking up his time now, but for making him want to spend more time still than he already had. Hadn't he given enough to that schooner yet? Hadn't he spent night and day down there? And now he was almost miserable not being there.

And Barrett too... he deserved cursed for eternity. He always seemed to know what they were thinking, all of them, like he was some sort of telepath. Scotty didn't _want_ to be understood by everyone. He kind of liked being an enigma to most people, because that meant that no one could get inside his head, and if no one could get inside of his thoughts then they couldn't turn around and use those against him. It was safe that way. So far, only a handful of people had managed to figure him out... Walgren, Corrigan and now Barrett too. The first had saved him from a career in command, the second had turned around and basically reminded him of his shortcomings, and the third was just waiting... waiting and watching, knowing everything and still not providing anything but cryptic answers.

Like the nature of wind.

What the Hell was that supposed to mean? The cadet wondered what book the professor was pulling these from. Wind was wind. It had something to do with hot and cold air, and that was it. And you didn't have to go with it or fight against it; a smart person would simply find somewhere and wait it out, rather than go into some kick of bravado and rage against the elements.

Go with it or fight it, take it on the bow or the stern, upsea or down. Sink or float, it all came back to what decision a person made.

Can't change it.

He almost had it figured out before he fell asleep.

* * *

The rhythmic rapping noise was out of place in the engine room of the _Constitution _class starship, where the captain was busy telling him that if they didn't get the warp drive back online, they were going to die, and where he was busy telling the captain that it was impossible but that he could do it anyway. And he was just about to receive a commendation when he woke up.

The door. Blinking a few times and realizing that he couldn't be much further from the engine room of a _Constitution_ class starship, Scotty pulled himself out of bed and somehow convinced his body to make the short trip to the door. Opening it with a still not entirely awake look, he frowned.

Albright had no such problems, wide awake and cheerful as all Hell. Sickeningly cheerful, Scott thought, not saying a word as he stepped aside and let the other cadet in.

"Coffee?" Joe asked, not waiting for an answer before shoving the thermos in Scott's direction. "Sleep well?"

"Aye... thanks," Scotty said, taking the coffee with a perplexed expression. Usually he didn't see anything of Albright until classes started at 0630, and since it was... "Dammit!"

"Are you all right?" Albright tilted his head, eyebrows drawn.

"It's 1400! I was supposed to be in class!" This would look really good to Pearson and Barrett, not to mention the entire crew of the _Lady Grey_. Knowing that it would be pointless to try to rush it this late, Scott sat back down on his bed and did his best to figure out where in the name of God those thirteen or fourteen hours went. That was a surreally long time to spend asleep, especially for him.

Albright shrugged, kicking the boot by the door out of the way. "One day won't get you drummed out of the fleet, unless they've really raised their standards. Besides, Jerry took charge, so no time was lost."

"Still..."

"Corry stopped by too."

Raising an eyebrow, Scott looked back up from where he'd had his face buried in his hands. "Oh? Better note that one in the books."

Joe winced, leaning against the wall. "I wanted to say that too, but it's kind of mean. He said they still haven't turned in his request for a transfer, though."

"That's because he's an engineer, not a doctor!" Stopping himself before he could go into a tirade, Scott stood and went about getting a clean uniform. He could probably spend an hour ranting about this sudden change of career Corrigan was planning, even if he'd been the one to originally suggest it. "Never mind."

"Never mind what?" Corry asked, stepping in behind Albright. He didn't notice Albright cringe, though it might have given him pause to wonder why.

"I was sayin' that the reason ye haven't been transferred is because ye're an engineer, not a doctor," Scotty answered, matter-of-factly. He wasn't even going to try to be tactful anymore.

Corry raised an eyebrow, not commenting.

"I'll see you down in the yards, sir," Albright said, then stepped out of the room.

Scott couldn't blame him. The tension had just gone up on the scale and was approaching unbearable again. He gave a halfhearted wave, even if it was too late for Joe to see it, and went back to getting his gear in order for the day. There wasn't a chance of him making it to any of his classes... his last class ended at 1500, but if he stayed in that room, he'd probably choke to death on his own frustration.

He was almost ready to say something snide to his roommate, almost ready to make it known just how pissed off he was when Corry picked his second pair of boots up and put them in the closet.

How one single action, so insignificant, could hurt that much he'd never figure out. Words lost, and not so much angry now as just very sorry, Scott grabbed his clothes and walked out.

* * *

The well-worn frustration wasn't quite back by the time Scotty made his way into the shipyards, still supplanted by that sort of aching feeling. Honestly, he would have preferred frustration... Hell, he would have preferred being thrown into a pool of acid. Anything was better than feeling regretful over a stupid pair of boots.

Stepping into the berth, he closed the door quietly and made his way to the front of the _Lady Grey_, where the most of the cadets were working. One team of four steamed the boards in the tubes in the back of the building, carried them up to the cadets on the starboard or port side, whichever the planking was for, and they fitted them onto the skeleton. It was a pretty organized system, really, even with the limited manpower.

Jansson was still in charge, still giving orders as a few of the other ensigns fitted the board on top of the next. Waiting until it looked like they were well-started, he paused and gave Scott a grin. "Welcome back, chief."

"Sorry," Scotty said, sheepishly. "I didn't mean to sleep half the day."

"You probably needed it." Jerry shrugged, gesturing to the work. "Besides, we did all right."

"Looks like it." Smiling a vague half-smile, Scott stepped over to help brace up the board while it was being nailed to the skeleton. They were working from the bottom up, though he was still debating on whether he wanted to just keep going up, then work their way aft, or stay on the bottom. The planks weren't terribly long, staggered enough to allow for maximum strength, and he couldn't honestly see if it mattered either way, so long as they were cut accurately.

The _Lady Grey_ was getting her skin now, one step closer to a floating vessel. The boards had enough give from being steamed to mold easily to the ribs, jointed to the extreme bow from inside the hull, and caulked on the outside once the wood had dried out again.

"Wonder if we shouldn't try'n commandeer a few more people," Scotty pondered, aloud but to no one in particular.

"I guess we could," Jansson said, picking up the conversation as he helped brace the plank. "What've you got in mind?"

"Keep on like we are, but get ourselves about twenty more people. That way we can have one team on the port side, one on the starboard, the team we have on the wood-steamin', and a team workin' on th' inside of the boat. Startin' on the bilge, the ceilings... y'know?"

"Good luck finding volunteers." Jansson chuckled, stepping back once the holding nails were in place, "Your reputation precedes you, Wolf Larsen."

Scott raised his eyebrows. "Who?"

"Wolf Larsen. He was a fictional character in an old book we had to read in secondary. Real tyrant."

"Thanks."

Jansson seemed to be entirely amused with his literary allusion and continued, "In fact, he had a schooner too, a fast one called the _Ghost_. A smart fellow, but he had a real complex going. Sound familiar?"

Scott forced down a smile and picked up a scrap piece of wood, holding it like a club. "Complex? I'll show ye complex, Mister."

Jansson snickered, knocking the board aside, "Aye aye, Cap'n Larsen."


	10. Part 2: The Lady Grey: Chapter 5

_Chapter 5:_

_Thursday, April 13th, 2243  
Weikman Lecture Hall, Theatre 4A  
Starfleet Engineering Academy  
Belfast, Ireland, Earth_

The name stuck, just like the _Lady Grey_ had stuck to the schooner. Scotty took it with somewhat mixed humor; occasionally he would give someone a glare over it, but most of the time he tolerated it, and it didn't take too long for him to answer to the name Wolf Larsen despite his best efforts not to. It wasn't pegged to him in bad spirits, he knew that much, though there were a couple of times he was afraid he might have more in common with the fictional tyrant than comfortable.

Just for the sake of curiosity, he'd looked the name up in the Starfleet literary database and spent an hour or so reading the book. Larsen was a sympathetic villain, he concluded. Someone who you could despise and respect at the same time, intelligent but unbalanced, obsessive and unconcerned all at once. That made him honestly wonder if that was what the other cadets of Team C thought of him.

"I hear your ship's coming along nice, Captain Larsen," Maggie said, lightly, breaking into his thoughts and effectively deleting anything but gibbering nonsense from his mind.

"Er... aye, sh-she is," Scott answered, or rather, stammered. Standing quickly, he set his books aside and tried not to look too idiotic. For some reason, his new name sounded a lot better coming from her rather than from one of his teammates. "And wh-what about yer team?"

"Slow," she admitted, smiling a tired smile. "How's Corry? He hasn't been around much lately."

Oh, just go and bring up that thorn in the side. Frowning a little, Scotty wished in the back of his mind that he had the courage to ask her out, tell her that Corrigan wouldn't appreciate her in his current state, offer his eternal love and devotion or any of the above. "Still aimin' for the med division."

Maggie echoed the frown with one of her own, shaking her head. "I wish he wouldn't be so serious about that. After all of this schooling, he should want to be an engineer."

"Aye... he should." The way her hair pooled on her shoulders, just barely regulation, was something close to bewitching. Hell with it, you only live once. "Maggie?"

"Hm?" she asked, looking back at him with those gorgeous eyes.

Scott shifted his weight from left to right to left, mentally smacking himself for being so damn hopeless. "Would... I mean, if ye... well, maybe someday ye could let me buy ye dinner? Or cook it? I mean, if ye dinna care to, that's all right, but maybe if ye-"

Maggie smiled, shaking her head. Leaning over, she kissed him on the cheek. "You're a sweety, Wolf, but I'm seeing someone." Stepping back, she picked up her books, turned, and walked out.

He was getting used to hearing that 'you're a sweety, but' line; still, Corry had been right. She was just so nice when she turned you down that it was impossible not to fall even more in love with her. Flopping back in his chair with a somewhat soulful sigh, Scott wondered absently exactly what it was with blondes, and her in particular, that made him into a complete idiot.

Nevermind. The peck had been worth the rejection. If that was standard issue rejection material, maybe he should try asking girls out more often. Maybe he could get more than a peck if he looked pathetic enough. He hadn't gotten so much as a hug from Rachel, but then, Rachel was just a girl, and Maggie was a genuine woman. All woman, head to toe, with that hair and those legs...

Cutting himself off before he started drooling, Scott stood again and grabbed his books. It wouldn't do at all to be found with a vacant, drooly expression by the next class due in. Taking a deep breath and mentally chocking this one up to experience, he walked out of the hall.

It was a fairly short walk across the road, through the gap between Andrews and the cafeteria, and over the lawn to the administration building. Barrett's office was on the first floor, and he tapped lightly on the door, not wanting to intrude if the professor was too busy to speak with him at that given moment.

"Come in," Barrett said, not looking up from the computer screen.

Scott stepped in, closing the door behind him. "I'm not interruptin' anything important, am I, sir?"

Barrett shook his head, turning off the computer and finally looking up. "Not at all. What's on your mind?"

"Manpower, sir. I was wonderin' if I was allowed to recruit a few more people for my team."

"Depends." The professor shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "Do you think you can convince a group of cadets to work on something they won't be getting credit for?"

"Depends," Scott echoed, grinning. "If I could, would ye allow it?"

Barrett grinned back, taking the challenge and adding to it, "Depends on whether or not you'd agree to bring your grades back up to where they should be."

"I could... 'course, that depends on havin' some help down there. We're understaffed, and ye know, sir, that does cut into my study time."

"You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Scott."

"Aye, sir, but a necessary one."

Thinking it over for a moment, Barrett twiddled his thumbs. He let the silence hang for a hair longer than comfortable before striking a smile. "I'll let you recruit if you'll give me your word that Captain Pearson will not come to me anymore and complain about my monopolizing your time. A few more hands should give you ample time to study."

Not one to allow the opportunity to beat Barrett at his own game pass, Scotty didn't answer immediately, likewise waiting until it was almost unbearably quiet. When he did, though, it was with no small amount of certainty. "Agreed, sir."

* * *

"Battle stress test for the frigate class, stage one," Jansson quizzed, taking a whack at a woodnail with his mallet.

"Lab test: Prolonged phaser blast on a section of the hull plating at 121 degrees centigrade to minus 156 centigrade, vacuum chamber, increasing atmospheric pressure per hundredth of a kilo 'til one full atmosphere's achieved." Scott smirked, leveling off the woodnail with a chisel once it was seated. "Right?"

"Right. Stage two?"

"Lab test: Simulated disrupter fire, section of hull plating, same temperature variations, same durations and changes."

"What's the maximum duration for the screens fully charged, Klingon disrupter fire, full power, tight beam?"

"Uhm..." Scott paused for a moment, calculating it out in his head as well as he could. "Frigate, right?"

"Yep," Jansson chirped, driving in the next nail.

"Between two minutes and two minutes, twenty seconds."

"I talked two first-years into joining the team."

"Did ye?" Scotty grinned, somewhat glad to have a break in the grilling. They'd been at it for an hour, alternatively asking and answering questions. "How'd ye manage that?"

"First I had to assure them we only called you Larsen as a joke," Jansson chuckled, setting the mallet down and climbing down from the ladder. "Then I promised them a bottle each of my homemade brandy for every week they put in."

Scott climbed down from his own perch, shaking his head in infinite sadness. "For shame, corruptin' the children like that. Someone oughta turn ye in, Jerry."

"Hey, they're too new to figure out that it's easy to sneak contraband on campus. I just took advantage of the situation."

"I won't complain, then. What time is it?"

Jansson looked at his watch, then winced. "2125. I should probably be getting back to the dorms. For that matter, so should you."

"Aye, in a minute." Scotty acknowledged the good-bye wave, then looked over the work they'd done over the past few days, since he'd approached Barrett with his request. So far, the two cadets Jerry had just bribed were the only two, but it was a start. They were making damn good progress, anyway, and that would make it all the better.

Stepping lightly, he started to walk around the bow to look over the starboard side. A couple more weeks of this, and the _Lady Grey_ would be over half-completed. Finish the hull, finish the below decks, the steering mechanism, step in the masts, run the lines, rig the sails, and she'd be genuinely seaworthy. The cosmetic fittings and extra gear aside, she'd be ready to go.

He wasn't sure why he stopped, but he did. Right in front of her, he stopped in his tracks and looked at her dead on.

He blinked.

Her bow rose well above his head, this massive construction of wood, tar, iron... blood and sweat. _His_ blood and sweat, and a few times, almost his tears too. It was a strange feeling, looking up at her like that and it was almost like he was seeing her for the first time. Seeing an entity, not just a project. Seeing something he'd fought for, something real and defined... not finished, but more than a concept, more than timbers.

Something he _built_, from the ground up, not just something he fixed or modified.

Frowning unconsciously, he took a step back. He'd imagined the schooner completed several times, but this was the first time he actually imagined her in the water, cutting through with that bow and parting the waves. Scott wasn't sure if he was afraid of that or not... or of the bittersweet sort of feeling, thinking of who she was going to belong to when it was all over.

Shaking his head hard, trying to physically get rid of the thoughts, he turned to finish his round. Not even a half-step later, foot still suspended in the air, he looked back.

Masts to the sky, bow to the waves, sails billowing in the wind, salt water flying... in that single moment, he saw her as clear as can be, and no matter what happened in the future, where he ended up, what other ships he might grow to love, he would never forget that mental picture.

Taking a deep, somewhat shaky breath, he didn't even try to finish rounding the bow, just turned around and sprinted out of the slip as fast as he could.

* * *

When Scott finally slowed down, stopped running like the hounds of Hell were on his heels, he was on the pier and fairly breathless. The air had a chilly edge on it, something that reminded him right quick he'd left his coat back in the shipyards, but he couldn't have forced himself to go back even if he'd managed to throw every ounce of willpower he had into it.

Not now. Maybe tomorrow, but he couldn't look at her now.

It wasn't so much the ship he was running from, but the idea of it: No matter how much of his heart and soul went into building the wooden vessel, she would never be _his_. He was building her for his best friend; a wild, desperate attempt to make things right the only way he really knew how. Christ, he just hoped Corry understood how much it was going to bite into him to give her up.

It wasn't _right_. What was it with ships, even archaic sailing ships, that could get into a man's blood and make him so devoted? Finally forcing himself to calm down and his breathing to even out again, the mixed up cadet crossed his arms tight across his chest and continued to walk along the pier. He certainly didn't want to go back to the dorms now, not in the face of everything that had happened, and he couldn't bear to go back to the slip and look at the _Lady Grey_ again. That left precious few places to wander, to think, or to try not to think.

The water was quiet, and for once, it wasn't raining or even misty. The sky was clear above, stars sparkling in a million different strengths and colors, a promise of far off worlds and entirely new things to encounter. He looked forward to the day he could get there, and escape the entire gravity of the planet he stood firm on now. Looked forward to being out there, an engineer on a starship, testing and retesting his talent and hopefully becoming something more than a confused, frustrated pup who couldn't even pick a side and stay on it.

Well, it was a nice dream anyway. Sighing, Scott found himself a bench to sit on and did his best not to let the cool air get to him. It was too late to go back to the dorms now without being interrogated - it wouldn't be any better when he showed up in class the next day, but at least he'd have time to mentally prepare himself for the dressing down.

For now, he didn't want to think about that, though. He didn't want to think about that, about the exam he had in the morning, about Corrigan and his screwed up obsession, or about the _Lady Grey_ and how she had so thoroughly bewitched him.

But she was still there anyway. No matter what he did, he couldn't get that damn schooner off of his mind. Not even thinking about the _Constitution_, the ship he wanted so badly to be on next time she came into port, could get him to stop working on the _Grey_. It was an obsession, no less enthralling or vicious than Corry's... in some ways, they were intrinsically linked, feeding off of each other like a miserable, power-hungry paradox. Corry worked on finding an antibiotic that wasn't necessary, and Scott worked on building a ship that was impractical; each working to help someone else and both left in torment over it.

It made no bloody sense.

Why? Why was he even working on this with the feverish intensity of a madman, when it would never lead to anything good? Was it for Corry, or was it for himself? Some way to prove that he could do it, that he could create something with his own two hands that was more than just a composite of wood?

Well, he'd done that. God, he'd done that... Scott pulled his knees up, resting his feet on the bench and burying his head in his arms. He was rattled; shaken up and desperate to make enough sense of it not to be shaken up, not to feel like everything was falling apart. Part of him wanted to run back to the slip and bury himself back into the work that had served so well as a focus for his intensity, and part of him just wanted to give up. Let her stay the way she was, or leave her to be someone else's concern. Anything had to be better than sitting in the cold, Belfast night. Anything had to be better than being torn apart between the logic that told him to settle down and focus on Starfleet and the emotion that screamed to finish the _Lady Grey_ - to finish her, to drag Corry down there when she was set afloat and force him to look, and to be brokenhearted if it all worked out how he wanted and he had to give her up to someone else.

It wasn't that he wouldn't have given almost anything for Corrigan; his life, his career even. If it came down to it, he wouldn't have hesitated to die in Corry's place. But what could he do when he couldn't even have that opportunity? When the death facing his best friend wasn't a death of the physical sort, but the death of every dream he'd ever held onto, every wish he'd ever given, every single thing that made him the person he was?

What sort of death was that?

More importantly: What could Scott really do about it?

Not a whole Hell of a lot, he concluded, miserably, head still buried from the world. He couldn't talk it out; the words were so hard to find, even if tact wasn't an issue. There was always the _Lady Grey_, but no guarantee that even a fully finished schooner would give Corry pause. No guarantee...

If he had been the suicidal type, Scotty might have given serious thought to jumping off of the pier and letting himself drown. Not because he was facing any serious problem, nothing that would effect the rest of the world, but because no matter what he wanted to do, it always seemed so difficult. A million engineering disasters were easier dealt with than one serious, cut to the bone emotional crisis. When the Hell had he started over-thinking everything, started letting how he felt interfere with what he knew he needed to do? That was easy... when he felt responsible somehow for Corry. When he'd decided to watch Corry's back, like Corry had watched his when he was helpless and in over his head.

Now he was paying for it. A less stubborn man might have given up long ago and figured that it was a lost cause, but Scott wasn't a less stubborn man. Confused, uncertain, but he sure was bullheaded enough to make up for it.

If he just had an answer to the problem... a way to make it all right with a clear-cut, definite, surefire plan, he'd be set.

If life were just that simple.


	11. Part 2: The Lady Grey: Chapter 6

_Chapter 6: _

_Friday, April 14th, 2243  
Pier 44  
Belfast, Ireland, Earth_

The sun came up with the sort of color that could never be duplicated in pictures, holos or paintings. It glinted first off of the clouds that whisped along the horizon, starting off in dull, washed out colors before climbing in intensity to a bright, scalding red. It was breathtaking to see the sky like that, so vivid that it could almost burn a person just by the color alone.

Scotty had given into common sense at some point, sneaking into the dorms to retrieve his civilian coat. General unease sent him back to the pier, though, and he hadn't moved from the spot he'd chosen, aside to watch the sunrise on the Lough.

It had been a relief to let the more easy thoughts of night time and approaching daylight displace the unhappy notions that had driven him to depression earlier. Whether it was weariness or cold that finally pulled him from that torment he didn't know, and didn't care. As long as something mundane replaced it, it just didn't matter.

Finally dragging himself away from the bench, he stretched slightly, painted red in the light and stiff from the night outside. It was one thing to be working all night, and another thing to be sitting idle - a fact he sure as Hell understood clearer on this side of midnight. Shaking his head at the irony of it, he started back for the campus.

Barrett intercepted him halfway. One look at the professor's face was enough to let Scott know he was in for it; still, before he had a chance to start to explain, Barrett confirmed that instinct. "I don't know exactly what career-destructive tendencies have overcome you this time, but generally," he said, spitting the word 'generally' out, "it's a good idea to at least check in before you decide to spend a night out."

Not able to think of a quick enough reply, the cadet stood at attention before he even realized he had adopted that stance.

"Do you even know what time it is?" Barrett asked, an edge on his voice that bordered downright icy.

Perturbed, Scott really did try to find an answer. He wracked his tired mind trying to count the hours, but that didn't help. Finally, weakly, he settled on, "I'm not sure, sir."

"Not sure." Shaking his head, the anger just seemed to vanish from Barrett, replaced by disappointment. "Security's looking for you. It's one thing to be a few hours late, but when you don't even make an attempt to check in for an entire night, that's bordering downright foolish."

"Aye, sir." Trying his hardest not to cringe, Scott bit on his lip. He really was in for it... not only from Barrett, but from the security division on campus. Technically, they could have called him AWOL - a very quick end to his career.

The commander didn't say anything for a moment or two, just studying his student's face, as if trying to understand what would warrant this sort of behavior. Finally he continued, though, more gently than before, "You're already late for your first class. If I were you, I would do my best to be on time for the next one."

"Aye, sir," Scott answered, dutifully, and started at a jog for the dorms. Barrett's voice stopped him a few paces later, though.

"Did you find it?"

The cadet's eyebrows drew together. "Sir?"

"Whatever you were looking for," Barrett said, with an eerie certainty, like he knew exactly what it was tearing up Scott's mindset so badly. "Did you?"

Scott frowned, replying honestly, "Not yet, sir. I'm still workin' on it." Waiting for the nod of acknowledgment, he turned back and jogged away before he could be dissected any further.

* * *

It didn't end with Barrett, though, and Scott didn't expect it to. Security made sure to take a piece out of his hide as well, though they didn't end up calling him AWOL. The formal reprimand that would be in his permanent Starfleet record was enough - any time he came up for promotion, someone would look at it and hesitate. Even if he never committed another breach of protocol, they would still notice that one.

Bureaucracy. One of the miserable constants in the universe.

He managed to get back to the dorms in decent time, rush through a shower and with his hair still soaked and the horrible feeling that it would only go downhill, he almost missed the final chime to get into Pearson's class. Skidding through the doors right as it rang, he was greeted with the Captain's full unhappiness.

"Nice of you to join us, Mr. Scott," Pearson said, coolly, bringing the attention of the entire class down on the still-panting cadet. "I wasn't sure if you were going to grace us with your presence."

Kelley snickered, loud enough to carry, and Scott raked him with a brutal glance before looking back at Pearson and adopting a more appropriate expression. "I'm sorry, sir."

"Well, take a seat. Education waits for no man."

"Aye, sir," Scott answered, keeping the relief from his voice only by sheer force of will. Darting up the steps, he picked the furthest possible seat from the front, fell into the chair with the grace of a dying animal, and tried to get his thoughts in proper order.

After an entire night of being almost insane with confusion, his mind resisted any attempts at being organized. It was another thing to add to the list of things going wrong that day so far, another thing to give cause for distraction. Once, a very long time ago it seemed, he had loved this class... now it was a pit from Hell, and he sure was coming close to falling in.

Forget the class, life itself was rapidly becoming a sick rendition of Dante's Inferno. Shaking his head at the thought, Scotty just did his best not to look to conspicuous. He wasn't in any sort of state to answer questions, take notes, do anything besides try damn hard not to lose his mind and fall to pieces.

That was when Pearson decided to remind him and the rest of the class that they had an exam.

_"Forget renditions,"_ Scott thought, taking the paper as it was passed back to him. It _was_ Hell, Dante's Inferno, but for him. Scowling at the paper and wishing he'd at least put forth some real effort to study the night before rather than sit melancholy on a bench by the ocean, he figured he could guess about half of them. Jansson had grilled him pretty well on what they were supposed to be tested on, but that was a distant memory... God, it felt like it had been a decade ago when he'd been in the slip, working on the ship, working on _something_.

An eternity. An eternity since the night before, an eternity from one moment when there was just wood and the next when he had finally allowed her to be something more. Hell, it had been so long since he had been somewhat right in the head that there just wasn't any way to describe it.

Firmly dragging his mind back to where it was supposed to be, he gave his full attention to the paper. It wasn't easy to call on the engineering talent that had served him so well... seemed like it was hiding from the current state he was in just like he wished he could. Normally he could find his way blindfolded around the facts, theories, practicalities and applications of engineering, and now he was struggling just to get through a one sheet examination.

One sheet of paper, nothing to be afraid of.

Smirking in a slightly unbalanced manner, Scott read it over once, read it over twice, and made an effort to answer the questions. The bargain he had made with Barrett kept him from just guessing his way through... normally a tactic he only used when he wanted to go and read up on a journal or troop through a schematic, and now a tactic he was tempted to use just to get it over with.

Still, once he actually focused enough, it wasn't hard. Most of the quizzing he had gotten the night before filtered back in a subconscious manner, presenting itself automatically. It was about the only bright point in the day so far.

Sadly enough, it would probably be the only bright point in the rest of the day as well.

* * *

He'd been relieved to go back to the slip by the end of that day. Even after the revelations of the night before, it was still the most comfortable place he could find within walking distance. The rain had started again, ruling out the pier... his room was just too damn unhappy even without Corry... well, that left the shipyards and the _Lady Grey._

The ships that men have sailed upon were often referenced throughout history. They captured the romantics, the semantics, the dreams and ambitions of human beings from the first time that a person set afloat a piece of wood and discovered that they could take to the water, become creatures of the ocean even if they could never really be a physical part of it. It was enough for them to be a spiritual part of the sea.

The ships had changed... became faster, better equipped, more capable of surviving a full gale. They'd evolved like the human race had, and even by that point, in the middle of the twenty-third century, they had not lost their ability to grab hold of a human heart. Man had moved into space, taking their love of their vessels with them, sailed the stars like they had the oceans, and it could never be said that there wasn't a bond between a ship and those who were aboard her.

The ocean wasn't finished with mankind just yet, though.

Scott didn't think of romanticism, being a fairly unromantic individual. He didn't contemplate the great evolution from the raft to the boat to the ship to the starship, nor did he pay a great deal of attention to how spiritual it all was. All he really did understand was that there was something there, something amazing, that wasn't explainable.

He was too tired, too close to losing it to understand much else. Ever a glutton for punishment, he'd worked from when classes ended to now. All evening, though, he hadn't once dared cross her bow, not sure he could take really _seeing_ her.

Now, this close to curfew and alone with the _Lady Grey_, he found himself back in front of her. It was almost like his feet had moved for themselves and before he knew it, he was there again, reminded again of everything he didn't want to be reminded of.

Was it really that long ago that he had hated her? Honestly?

And now she was one of the few things he could depend on. He had tried all day to understand why he had allowed this to happen... why he'd allowed himself to care. Why he even cared in the first place, beyond the wish to finish her for Corry.

Where exactly the transition had taken place hard to say - it was more of a progression than anything. It was every nail that he'd hammered in himself, every inch he'd sanded, every late night spent working until his hands bled from it. It was a simple equation, really; the more that he put of himself into her, the more she gave back until they really weren't so much two separate entities, just equal parts of one another. It had just taken him until last night to admit it.

Stepping forward, Scott leaned his forehead against the wood, eyes closed. The sturdiness of the ship, no matter how incomplete she was, was reassuring. She was solid... a structure he could lean on, carry his weight because right then, he wasn't sure he had the strength or the courage to do it himself. The whole day had been hard, from one problem to the next to the next, and at least here someone was willing to hold him up.

If only she had the answers, he would be all right. But she couldn't tell him what to do; even if she could, he didn't think he could do more than just stand there, leaning on her as though she were the only thing between him and damnation.

It was never so easy, though. God, it was never that simple, to just depend on a ship and have the ship depend on him without something going wrong. If she were his, he'd wonder about the friend he might have given up to keep her, and if she were Corry's, he'd have to find his own place. The fact that Starfleet technically owned her never crossed his mind; it was where the soul of her stood that mattered.

For that moment in time, however, she was his... the accumulation of every single good thing he had in him. Maybe tomorrow or some other day she wouldn't be, but for that single moment she was.

"I think ye're the only friend I've got left," Scott said, a sad certainty in his voice that seemed even more desolate in the dark slip. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, to get enough strength to stand on his own again, he let the ship go.

He didn't look back when he walked out. If he had, he was sure it would have snapped him in two.

* * *

He chose to walk back to the dorms, rather than catch the shuttle. He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually taken the easy route back, but it hadn't been within the last couple of months. Before, the notion of walking out in the rain when there was an easy alternative was best left to fools, romantics and people itching to catch a cold... now he found it gave him a chance to think on his own without the direct influences of anyone else.

Not that anyone had ever been able to influence Scotty's way of thinking. Maybe his life, maybe even his career, but not how he thought, not how he dealt with things. Now suddenly they could and it was eating at him with the persistence of a hungry lion... somehow, these people were able to disrupt his perfect formula, this balance he'd achieved between life and work, work and life until they were both the same thing. They could get to him without even being there, just by what they'd said in the past.

Like Barrett, and the moral that was supposed to make it all make sense. The nature of wind, which tickled at the back of the cadet's mind almost constantly, and which he still didn't _get_. Logic said that it had something to do with destiny and the winds of fate... what else could it be, with a reference like that? But his heart was telling him otherwise, telling him very much against his will that this could be something more important than a simple end-of-the-story moral that went right along with the 'happily ever after' line.

So he thought about it, tried to understand it like he understood how to repair a piece of equipment. It resisted being figured out, though, just like he resisted being figured out, and just like Corry's motives for the career switch resisted being figured out.

In that sense, maybe Scott did understand.

He still wasn't quite ready to give up on Corrigan, however, even though it seemed more hopeless by the day. Morals could wait, but friends could only wait so long before they became complete strangers... oh, sure, you could sit down and chew over old times with a cup of coffee or a shot of Scotch, but that was it. There was nothing more to it besides the sad ruminations of what could have been and should have been if it hadn't all gone so bloody wrong.

Stepping into the gate and nodding to Security, he did his best to mentally prepare himself for the idea that Corry might be there when he walked in, and that he might be called on to converse in a manner that wouldn't be blatantly picking a fight. He didn't want a fight, no... but everything he wanted to say would get him one.

The walk was like death row, up the steps and down the hall - it went too quickly and he was still desperately unprepared. All he could say was that he felt dread. It was a force of will just to turn the door knob and step in.

Any ideas of conversation gave way to having that dread realized.

Corry glanced up from his dresser, offering a half-smile of greeting. "Evening."

His bags were packed... literally. They sat beside his bunk, which was made and squared away with the Starfleet issue blanket rather than the blue wool blanket he usually had on it. The bookshelves were cleared off, the computer tapes were put away... it was almost like walking into someone else's room. Scott frowned, putting it all together in his mind with the speed of desperation. "Leavin'...?"

"Yep!" The older cadet finished shoving his knickknacks from the dresser top into his carryon. "I'm outbound at midnight for pre-med training."

"Why...?"

Corrigan raised an eyebrow, looking at his roommate through the mirror. "Because my transfer came through."

Blinking a few times, still almost out of the door, Scott wasn't sure what to think. He had been so sure that the transfer wouldn't have come through until after he had a chance to finish the _Lady Grey_ and maybe sabotage Corry's career change using her. Now... now every bit of work he'd put into her had been for nothing. Corry was really going to do it. He was really going to leave, all smiles and joyous celebration at something that could be the biggest mistake of his life.

_God..._

"Ye're makin' a mistake," Scott said, with a certainty that harbored no hesitation. He didn't have anything left now but words, and if Corry was just going to walk away, he'd at least say his piece before then. "I think this'll be the biggest mistake ye ever make."

"Yeah, you and everyone else." Corry shrugged, nonchalantly. "This is what I want, though... at least wish me good luck."

"No."

"No?" Well, that wasn't the common answer. Corrigan paused in his packing, turning to look at the other cadet. "Whaddyou mean, no?"

_"Now or never,"_ Scott told himself, shoulders set in defiance of this, life and everything else. "I'm not gonna wish ye luck on screwin' yer life up."

Corry's eyebrows drew together, and he crossed his arms, no less defiantly. "Who says I'm screwing my life up? How do you know that this isn't the best thing for me?"

"'Cause I _know_ you," Scotty answered, finally giving voice to at least some of what he had been wanting to say for the past months. It wasn't easy... Hell, it was downright hard, but this was it. His last chance. "I know ye care about yer father, an' ye're scared t' death of losin' him, an' I know ye dinna wanna go into space, an' that ye somehow think this is gonna make it all right, but Christ, Cor, it's _not._ There's no runnin' from what's chasin' you."

"That's the problem with you." Corry shook his head, but he was obviously stung by the words. "You don't have faith in anything, do you? You don't trust me to make a decision like this."

"No, I don't," Scott said, bluntly.

"Gee, thanks. Nice to know that you really care that much, so much that you're willing to tell me I'm a screwup who needs you to guide me."

If he knew how much Scott cared... but he didn't. Not quite able to force himself to explain it all, Scotty just shook his head. "I dinna say that. I'm sayin' that ye're about to walk out o' here, an' dammit, I _know_ ye'll regret it."

"How?" Patience wearing thin, see-through thin, both of Corry's eyebrows went up at the challenge. "Are you gonna tell me that you're able to see into the future, too?"

"No! But what'll happen when ye go through all of this, an' give up four years... count 'em, four years of yer life, just on a maybe?" Unable to stop himself, Scott launched into an imitation of Corrigan that was downright eerie, "'Well, cripes, my Dad's okay and now I'm lieutenant and it only took me until I was thirty-five, but that's all fine because now I'm out here charting bacteria that floats around on solar currents billions of miles from home on this ass-backwards little ship. Life's wonderful!'"

"Exactly when did you start to give a damn?" Corry finally asked, deadly calm, once he got over hearing a close copy of his voice and inflections parroted at him. His fists were still clenched, though. "Since when did you start to give a damn about me, about anything other than being an engineer on the _Constitution_?"

Caught off guard, the younger cadet paused for a moment before stammering, "I... don't know." And he didn't. There was just some time, over the months, that he decided that Corry was worth it. Worth caring about. Even worth dying for.

"Right. And that," Corrigan said, sharply, hoping to drive the point home, "is because you don't. Because the only thing you're worried about losing is a drinking buddy. Well, I'm sorry if I care about more than machines! I'm sorry if I give a damn about something besides a starship or some idiotic class project!"

"The _Grey's_ more'n a project!" Scott shot back before he even had time to think about it.

Seeing that the other ensign was close to on the ropes, Corry didn't even hesitate. "It's a pile of wood! You said it yourself, she's a waste of time, completely foolish! What, you're going to tell me that you care about that ship now? No, you don't. Christ, I wouldn't be surprised if you were some kind of machine on the inside, because I sure don't see someone made of flesh and blood writing off as much as you do. What if it was your Dad, huh?"

"I'm not writin' anything off!"

"You wrote me off," Corry said, his voice low and cold. "Know what? That's fine. It goes both ways. I'm glad I'm getting out of here... it's sure better than listening to you pretend like you actually give a good Goddamn."

Trying to get back up on his feet, mentally anyway, Scott let the silence hang for a long moment. He really was on the ropes, trying to understand how his _best friend_, the singular reason he'd even thrown his heart into that schooner could think any of this. "Is... is that what y'think?"

"Oh yes," Corry snapped, unhesitantly. He picked up the model of the ship and tossed it at the other cadet's feet. He didn't look down, just kept his gaze leveled on Scott, who met it without so much as a breath drawn. "If this is all you claim to care about in your life, then God help anyone who thinks they might have a shot in the dark at being your friend."

Scott didn't breathe immediately, trying to come to grips with all of this and wondering where it all went so wrong. He didn't take his eyes off of Corry, didn't want the other cadet to think he'd been hurt, but it was all in vain anyway. He was.

He finally had to close his eyes, though, because he wasn't so badly wounded as to let someone else see it. Trying hard to find stoicism and only managing shocked, he made his way back out of the door in complete silence.

The first breath he took after getting out of there was almost a sob.

Dammit all to Hell, no! He wasn't going to give anyone the satisfaction of making him that upset, to the point of tears. Growling under his breath at himself, Scotty tried hard not to shake as he made his way down the steps and out of the window in the basement. Fine, if Corrigan wanted to think that he was all alone in the world and no one cared about him or his future, just great; he could go and be the great doctor or scientist without anyone to tell him that it might be a mistake.

Scott climbed the fence without the ease he usually was graced with, scrambling over the top and falling over the other side like a drunk. It was luck alone he hadn't broken his ankle, but he wasn't thinking about luck, he wasn't even thinking about where he was going. He just had to get away and find something to make it stop hurting.

All for nothing. It was all for nothing, the ship, the nights working, nothing... just a broken wish to make it right and a failure. He'd _failed_. He'd actually failed and now he was going to lose a friend and because of that he was going to lose the _Grey_... God, it wasn't right, it was never right and now it could never be right.

And now he couldn't see the damn road.

Brushing the tears out of his eyes with an almost violent motion, Scott snarled - at himself for finally breaking down under the pressure, at the circumstances surrounding it, at life itself because in that moment, he couldn't understand any of it. Wasn't it just this morning he'd watched the sunrise on the pier, and wasn't it just last night when he'd really seen the _Grey_, and now, another eternity later and the answer he'd been hunting for was gone for good.

The only really coherent thing left in his mind was the same thing that had echoed throughout the ages, a cry against the universe for its injustice.

_"No..."_

The universe didn't stop, not for him and not for the hundreds of thousands who came before him with the same cry. It went on without a pause.

But in that moment, it sure felt like it was falling apart.


	12. Part 2: The Lady Grey: Chapter 7

_Chapter 7:_

_Friday, April 14th, 2243  
Malone Road Dormitory, Room 17  
Starfleet Engineering Academy  
Belfast, Ireland, Earth  
_  
The shuttle was due to pick him up at the terminal down the road in an hour, and Corrigan was packed to go. He had everything clean, neat and handsomely organized. All that was left was to carry his two bags and his one carryon out, present Security with his transfer orders by the gate, and walk away for good.

It sounded so simple, but it wasn't.

It was supposed to be simple. He wasn't supposed to second-guess this. He sure as Hell wasn't supposed to be feeling like this, like he had just... just set fire to a hard-won bridge.

Sweeping his half of the floor with a broom, Corry knew he was stalling, making excuses not to go. He wouldn't admit it even if someone was torturing him, but he knew he wanted to wait until the last possible moment to give Scott time to come back, so that he could apologize, so that he could set things right with his friend before it was too late.

Not that Corry had been wrong. Oh no, he was right about everything that he said. He had to be right about it, because if he wasn't then he'd just done something unspeakable and stabbed an innocent man in the back. He wasn't _capable_ of something that cruel... even at his angriest, he'd never once turned around and tried to really hurt someone. And Scotty was his best friend, no matter how machine-absorbed and odd he was.

And now... now the other cadet was probably off fuming about it. Corry tried to reassure himself that anger was what drove Scott away like that, but he knew better than that, too.

No, he had to be off fuming. Probably headed back to the _Lady Grey_, even.

Had to be.

Dammit, why did it have to end up like this? Scowling, Corrigan threw the broom into the corner and paced a few steps back and forth. Why did they have to get into a fight, instead of just saying 'see ya later?' like everyone else? That way, in a month or two, they could have met up in a bar somewhere, tossed back a few drinks and it would have been just like it always was... joking and laughing, being unspeakably lewd and calling each other chicken over whatever they possibly could.

There wouldn't be the accusing silence that faced him now.

_It wasn't right_, the voice in his mind told him, viciously. _Think about it._

"Shut up," Corry whispered, trying to talk his own conscience down. There was a reason that he'd fought back like he had! And it wasn't like Scotty was innocent of any wrongdoing... he had spent the last couple of months completely absorbed into working on the _Lady Grey_, instead of taking a minute and listening. He'd been down there day and night, not even trying to be a good friend, just working on that ship like it was the only thing in the world... the only thing that meant anything, as if somehow...

...as if somehow that ship could make up for Corry being lost in medical books, forsaking his own friendships in the process.

For the first time, Corry began to understand what had been going through his roommate's mind, and for the first time, he began to look at himself like Scott might have looked at him. Stopping, he looked into his mirror, blinking in surprise at just how much he'd changed, how much more anger he carried in him.

When did he stop recognizing the person who looked back at him?

There was nothing... not career, not anything worth this.

A sick feeling creeping into his veins, he grabbed his coat and pulled it on. Maybe it wasn't too late to stop this bridge from becoming ash.

* * *

His feet had it in for him. Still stunned and bewildered, Scotty wasn't even thinking of where he was walking... he just was. Where didn't matter anymore, or even why, though his feet seemed to know where they wanted to take him, and that was back to the shipyards.

As if he hadn't had enough heartache there. But it didn't much matter, because at least there he would be able to get in out of the cold, misting rain, crawl up onto the _Lady Grey_ and hopefully sleep through the next decade or so in peace. Finding somewhere safe became his sole concern in life all over again, and his feet must have known that because they were taking him to the slip.

Belfast was quiet. It was a heavy quiet, almost tangible in its weight. The streets were slick from water, black pools on a black road... a black world altogether. No moonlight shone through the clouds, and even the street lights and business lights didn't cast so far as they normally did, cut off by the mist. Back at the Academy, the dorms were winding down and everyone was going to bed, and in the industrial district, no one was out and about. No one passed him on the bridge.

The shipyards were just as silent. So far, Scott had been the only one who actually stayed there into the deep night hours; in the daytime, the entire area was filled with the sounds of industry and shipbuilding. The students who had projects, the H&W employees building dyna-carriers in the massive berths down the way... not now, though. Now it was a place best suited for ghosts and emotionally exhausted cadets.

The air tasted strange.

It pinged in his subconscious, just like the monitor turning off had when Corry had found out about his father. It wasn't a feeling that slammed into him, but it was still enough to make him take notice. An uneasy feeling... something was wrong. Instinctively, even on the edge of dropping, he knew something was wrong.

He didn't stop walking, but he did manage to focus on that. Before, he'd known fairly quickly what it was that had disturbed him enough to register, but this time there was no one to tell him. He had to figure it out on his own. Frowning, Scott picked his pace up a notch or two, trying to reconcile in his head what could have given him pause like that. It had to be something.

Crossing around the side of the slip three down from his, he tested the air like an animal might, trying to gauge what was off about it. The mist was there... that was normal. The salt, it was ever present and one of the constants in his life. It was something else... something that didn't belong; something that he, being only human, had a hard time discerning.

...

Smoke.

The _Lady Grey_ screamed.

It was a sound that, later in his life, Scott would become very good at recognizing; the sound of something he loved in danger. It wasn't a literal noise, it was in his head, and he had never heard it before now... but in the time between one breath in the next, he knew beyond any doubt that his ship was in danger.

That instant, nerve-shattering realization was enough to set him running before he had time to decide to run - his mind didn't have time to catch up to his instinct. He had no clue what could have happened, but he did know that she was in trouble and that if he didn't do anything, she would burn.

Skidding around the corner, he was off balance and barely able to recover before he ended up sliding out into the wet concrete. The mist made it hard to see, even with the lights on every berth, and it was only when he got closer that he was able to make out #22, and the wisps of black smoke curling out from under the door.

She was still screaming.

Christ, it was a wail that reverberated in his head, bouncing between his ears and completely driving any remnants of thought from his mind; a keening shriek, her desperate cry to the man who built her to make it stop. If he had more experience in getting past that initial terror, he might have seen the black-clad figures vanish into the shadows, and he might have realized what danger he was in... but he didn't.

So Scott had no way of knowing if it was he who ran into the pipe or if the pipe ran into him, but it caught him across the abdomen hard enough to drop him in his tracks and knock the air from him.

The pain was enough to temporarily get him past the _Lady Grey_, and more than enough to make him wish, with a calmness that would have been amusing if not for the situation, that he had worn some sort of body-armor. Trying to get a breath of air, he looked up just in time to see the pipe swing again, heard someone shout, and by sheer willpower alone found enough concentration and strength to scramble backwards before the metal could take his head off of his shoulders.

It literally parted his hair, and someone cursed... apparently his ability to recognize English had suffered... and still gasping, Scott dragged himself to his feet, about ready to start swinging back. Pipe or no.

She screamed again, and the entire fight and any concept of pain fled with it. Not even glancing at his assailants, he took off for the slip.

* * *

Corry was a good several minutes behind, jogging at an easy pace and trying to figure out what to say. He had no idea of the drama that was being played out, aside from his part in it. If he had, he would have ran until he collapsed or until he got there, whichever came first, but he didn't know. All he knew was that he had a lot of self-examination coming, and if he was lucky, he could somehow save a friendship before it was too late.

He did notice a small group of people, though, walking on the opposite side of the street across the bridge. They were just shadows in the fog and rain and blackness, walking quickly. They were talking, but too softly for him to hear, and before he had a chance to take a closer look, they were gone.

Noticing them gave him a distinctly uncomfortable feeling. What the heck were people doing out in the industrial district this late? It was too dark to work outside, and most of the shipyards and mills had closed a few hours ago. There was only one restaurant in that area, a little family place that was open in the day, so they weren't out to eat. Frowning to himself, Corrigan figured that they must be cadets, out after curfew and trying to remain inconspicuous... but why in this part of town?

Something wasn't right. He knew very well where most cadets hid out, and it sure wasn't around there. It was usually on the other side of the city, where there were night clubs made for those who didn't want to be asked questions, where sweethearts could rent a room and where the younger cadets could play holopool and have a few beers. Corry had spent his entire first two years in places like that.

Unconsciously he picked his pace up, crossing a dark road and fumbling to key in the entrance code for the H&W main gate. Muttering a few obscenities when he punched it in wrong once, then twice, he was just about ready to climb when the lock clicked open.

He knew Scotty well enough to know that he'd be with his ship, down in #22, and though it was a long walk, it wasn't so long that he wanted to turn back. He could always catch the 0300 shuttle and still be able to report on time in Maryland... apologizing couldn't wait like the shuttle ride could. Not if he wanted to keep a friend.

The smell of smoke was far stronger by then, and it hit him with more force than it had Scotty. Unlike Scott, though, Corry knew instantly what was going wrong; he knew that someone had set the ship afire, that the group of people who had been walking the other way were responsible, that his best friend was in danger if he was there...

Gears turning in his head at an almost frantic pace, he broke into a full run.

* * *

Existence had been reduced from one breath to the next for Scotty. He didn't remember having a future, a past, a name, a family... all he had was the breath he was holding, hopefully the next one that would replace it, and his hands.

Scott had always been good at fixing things, working on things... he could do almost anything with a good thought in his head and his own two hands. It was one of the things that set him apart from almost every other engineer in Starfleet.

That talent was being tested like never before.

The slip was black, pitch black, and he was blind in the smoke, deprived of the ability to even see what he was doing. He couldn't fight his eyes open if he had been able to see farther than an inch. Sounds were muffled, mostly crackling... no roar, just a distant crack or pop that said there were flames somewhere in all of that blackness. He didn't have the ability to breathe... if he risked it, and tried, he'd pass out before a full minute.

So there was nothing but the scream, the air he had and his hands. He'd managed to feel his way along the wall, trying to find the fire-suppression unit that would have kicked in if it was working properly. It was a chance in a million, a literal shot in the dark. The building would be fine... oh, it was fireproof, but the _Lady Grey's_ only chance at rescue lay in the hands of her head architect, a blind and desperate cadet.

Duck below the smoke, take a breath, and go back to it. The air closer to the floor wasn't uncontaminated, but it was clean enough to keep him from choking. It burned, something he took no notice of as he finally found the small panel.

Fumbling around with a frantic sort of hopelessness, he found his screwdriver in its usual pocket. Not even thinking, just letting his hands think for him, he somehow pried the panel free, so focused that even with his eyes closed, the smoke rolling, the scream in his mind, the need for oxygen, he was able to find his way around the inner workings of the unit on the wall.

No air.

Blackness wasn't closing in, because it was already black, but the scream was fading and so was everything else. Jaw knotting, he ducked down again, took another breath.

One breath to the next, that was all.

* * *

The sight of the smoke pouring out of the door nearly made Corry's heart stop in his chest. Without a backwards thought, he took a deep breath and plunged in. Logically, he would find Scott working on the panel... the panel had to be malfunctioning, or it would have already sounded the alarm, sprayed the suppressant down from the ceilings and out of the walls, suctioned the smoke out... he had to be there, somewhere in that nightmare.

Corrigan was still thinking, though, gifted with the ability to reason even in a panic situation. Eyes closed involuntarily, he followed the wall just like his roommate had, trying to remember the layout of the building. The mold loft was up high, and fireproof. The building itself wasn't in any danger; it could withstand several thousand degrees celsius... the ship was in dire straights, though, and so were they, if they didn't get out of there.

Moving as fast as he dared, he ended up running smack into another body.

* * *

The other body, of course, was Scotty, who was still working at the panel. He didn't even pause, just shoved Corry out of the way one-handed, not knowing who it was or caring.

Whoever had rigged the panel had done a shoddy job on it. There were only two wires disconnected... one to the main system, one to the backup.

He didn't even have air left... he was on borrowed time, fighting the instinct to breathe.

As disconnected as the wires were, he experimentally touched two ends together. No sound, no sight... touch was his last sense.

A spark. He felt that.

Risking electrocution, he twisted the ends together and waited.

Someone tried to drag him off... not a chance. He shoved them away again, more forcefully than he'd normally be capable of. The reflex to breathe finally overrode his conscious decision not to, leaving him with his lungs full of smoke and by then, even his sense of touch was fading to nothingness.

Courage, struggling for oxygen.

* * *

Having been pushed off twice and getting close to suffocation himself, Corry was to a point where even he didn't have logic left. Picking himself up from the floor, a new breath of air in him, he felt his way back down to the other cadet. Just as the calibration on the panel finished running, the alarm came on, and the fire-suppression system kicked in full force, he latched onto Scott's arm with a grip that allowed no argument and started dragging him back for the door.

Breaking out into the fresher air of the Belfast night had to have been the biggest relief he'd ever felt. Letting the other man go, he staggered a few steps, coughing and choking on the smoke that he'd taken in. Clean air had never tasted so good, so full of promise that he'd survive to do something right with his life.

Finally getting his breathing under his control, he forced his mind away from the thoughts of being alive and basically in one piece and turned his focus back to Scott, who was still struggling for air, down to his hands and knees, coughing up a storm. Frowning in worry, he knelt down. "Scotty?"

Scott didn't answer immediately. He had been shoved so far away from himself that there wasn't much left to him right then. It was only after getting some clean air that he began to get his senses back... first pain, then sound, sight, and only after that his memory. It seemed like everything hurt, from where the pipe had hit him to his chest and throat aching from the smoke.

If he'd actually been rational or even so inclined, he might have found the progression of emotion interesting. The blanket of pain was there, taking over for the single-minded courage, and at the concerned voice at his shoulder, it squeezed in thick and fast. It might have been interesting how an act of honest worry and caring could transform hurt to rage.

That fast, in not even a minute, Scott snapped. When Corry offered his hand, Scott sprang onto him with the full fury of a hurricane.

Corry was shocked. Really shocked. First, he hadn't expected to be tackled, and second, Scotty looked downright lethal. He wore the black from the smoke and the blood pouring down the right side of his face like warpaint, snarling, eyes narrowed... there were so many things Corrigan wanted to say, but not a single word could be found.

Apparently Scott could find his words, though. Growling, voice like gravel, he had plenty to say and nothing holding him back. "Care t' say somethin' now, ye sorry son of a bitch? C'mon, Corry... c'mon, give me a good reason t' kill ye."

Corrigan could barely recognize Scott, something he never thought he would be able to say. Choking on his words, he stammered, "I... I'm s-sorry..."

"Sorry?" That wasn't what Scott wanted to hear. He drew back his fist without so much as a pause, one hand twining through the fabric of Corry's coat, intending to just wail on the other cadet. He wanted to take back every single hurt he'd suffered, not only from the last several months, but for his entire life.

He came that close, and it was only looking down through tear-blurred eyes that he realized something.

Corry was afraid. Scotty blinked, a soft voice in his head telling him that, and the further thought was the one that took that rage away just as quickly as it had shown up. _"...of me... afraid o' me... Jesus..."_

Taking a deep breath, he let the other cadet go and stood up, shaking from head to toe, not quite sure how to cope with all of it. With anything.

Blinking a few times, Corry followed suit and picked himself up. With a certain detachment, he wondered how it was that his best friend had held back. He had recognized that look, burning black in Scott's eyes, and what made Corrigan shiver was that he had seen that in himself not even a half an hour before. "I didn't mean it... I didn't mean any of it."

"Bloody lot o' good that does now." Reeling, the younger cadet brushed a hand across his forehead, and was dully surprised to see it come away red. He hadn't even noticed he was bleeding... maybe that second pipe swing _had_ found its mark.

Overlooking a potential flare up, Corry took a cautious step towards Scott, ready to duck out of the way if need be. "You better sit down..."

Lip twitching in a warning snarl, more instinctive than angry, Scotty stepped backwards. "What d'ye care, anyway? Ye should be on the damn transport, headin' off f'r that glorious future ye've got all planned out. Doesna matter if anyone cares, if anyone mighta been willin' t'do most anything t' keep ye from screwin' yer life up, no."

"You were always down here!" Corry finally exclaimed, exasperated. "How the Hell was I supposed to know?"

Scott's eyebrows drew together. After almost a half a minute in silence, he asked, "Ye dinna get it, do ye?" Shaking his head with a bitter laugh, he turned and started to walk away, unsteady and beaten. Mentally, physically, emotionally beaten.

Corry debated a full two seconds and finally chased after his roommate. "Get what?" Not getting an answer, he grabbed Scott's shoulder and dragged him back, still half-expecting to be decked for the trouble. "Get what, Scotty?"

"I was building her for you," Scott replied, smiling a half-smile that had nothing to do with humor. Looking at Corry, he said simply, "That's why I was here."

It made sense, then, and Corrigan almost wished that it didn't. It clicked, the final tumbler to the whole equation - and he had never, ever felt like such a miserable human being as he did in that moment. Swallowing, he had to look away before he could say, "God, I'm sorry..."

"Doesna much matter now." Scott closed his eyes, trying to ward off a vicious dizzy spell. "Wish I woulda realized sooner, though, that ye dinna deserve her."

He was right. Maybe that was the hardest part to face... Scott was right. Corrigan didn't deserve the_ Lady Grey_, and he certainly didn't deserve a friend who would have poured heart and soul into her for his sake. He could see it all now, a master plan by a master engineer who worked better with his skill than words, he could see the thought behind it, and the pure selflessness in it. He could see the driven need to finish her before it was too late, the reason Scott hadn't had him removed from the project, the desperate pain in his eyes when Corry had turned around, thrown the model at his feet and dashed that hope.

Trying to find someway to apologize, he looked back up, throat thick with guilt.

Not that Scotty was likely to hear it. He'd been pushed well beyond his limit... burned out, wounded, cold and numb. He just didn't have any fight left in him to stay on his feet and ward off the blackness.

It didn't matter if anyone was there to catch him when he fell.


	13. Part 3: Righting Arm: Chapter 1

**Part 3: Righting Arm**

* * *

But you weren't there,  
Right when I needed you the most,  
And now I dream about it,  
And how it's so bad, it's so bad...

It's too bad, it's too bad,  
Too late, so wrong, so long;  
It's too bad that we had no time to rewind,  
Let's walk, let's talk...  
Let's talk.

-**Nickelback**, Too Bad

* * *

_Chapter 1:_

_Saturday, April 15th, 2243  
Malone Road Dormitory, Room 17  
Starfleet Engineering Academy  
Belfast, Ireland, Earth_

The world didn't look the same on the other side.

The sun was out, which seemed to be a miracle in Belfast. As days went, it was gorgeous - lazy strings of white clouds drifting across the spring sky, tracing shadows across the lawn, playing light across the floor of the room and it was surprisingly soothing to Corry, who felt very worn and hollow.

He had called the first chance he had gotten and had his transfer held off. Since Security wanted to grill him about the incident in #22, it wasn't an issue he could debate anyway. Harland and Wolff wanted to know why their slip had been broken into, Starfleet wanted to know why they had no less than two curfew violations, one arson and one wounded cadet to deal with, and Corry really, really wanted to know who had set the _Lady Grey_ ablaze.

So most of the night was spent running around, and now in the early afternoon light he had a chance to sit down, a chance to really think rather than simply react. He knew he should have been trying to get clues into who had committed such an act, but it was far better in that moment to just relax and let his mind wander away from the incident.

Instead, he found himself thinking about his actions. As tired as he felt, he didn't wince as badly as he had the night before when Scott had initially given him notice of what was really going on outside of his world of medical research, but he still cringed internally at everything that had been said before that. Corrigan had a hard time realizing just how much had gone wrong... it all seemed to be falling apart. He had thought the world had come to an end when his father had taken ill, and admittedly, that had been terrible in every sense of the word. But he hadn't been the one to do that; he hadn't been the one causing that suffering.

This time, he was the guilty party. Not the only guilty party, no, because whoever had sabotaged the _Lady Grey_ had some fault in it, but if he hadn't turned around and stabbed his best friend in the back, then none of it might have happened.

It wasn't easy walking in someone else's shoes, especially Scotty's. It wasn't easy to realize that not only had the other cadet thrown himself into the project, but Jansson and Albright had backed him up... all three of them had rallied around Corry to protect his grades, and Scott had fought at the forefront to protect his career, his dreams... and even his life as he'd known it. It wasn't easy seeing any of that, and being too late to really do more than try to clean up the awful mess he'd made of things.

The _Lady Grey_ wasn't in as bad a shape as he had expected. After the smoke had cleared and he had to go back to give his reports, he had a chance to look the schooner over. From the thickness of the smoke, he had expected her to be ash, but she wasn't. Her midsection ribs and crossbeams were charred, and her keel in that area had taken some scorching, but aside that, she was intact. What had really caught was the stockpile of wood, and it had only just caught onto the _Grey_ a little before Scott had shown up. If he hadn't been there, and if the fire had continued, she would probably be unsalvageable. That was no doubt the plan of the saboteurs.

Like his ship... and it was _his_ ship... Scott hadn't fared as bad as he seemed to initially. Corry had made damn sure to get the medics on scene as quick as possible, and even if his roommate hadn't known it, Corry did catch him when he fell, though he nearly broke his own neck doing so. At first, he was expecting it to be something lethal, but after the doctor on campus had a chance to look Scott over, he ruled it a combination effect. Exhaustion, smoke inhalation, blood loss... no one factor. All of them had conspired to the blackout that the younger cadet still hadn't woken up from. A few days, some very badly needed rest, and he'd be fine.

Physically, anyway. Corrigan wasn't so sure mentally. But he'd have a chance to figure that out later; right now, he just wanted to try and come up with an apology, find the asses who did it, and beat the ever loving Hell out of them.

It sounded like a good plan.

An unhappy whimper pulled him away from his thoughts. Knowing very well just how much Scotty hated hospitals, doctors and being held anywhere against his will, Corry had conned them into transporting him back here once he'd been patched up and pronounced in decent shape. It hadn't been hard - the campus medical staff consisted of half-retired doctors who were more concerned about getting their rest than dealing with a slightly battered but not badly wounded kid. Now his roommate was very much his responsibility, and one he was determined not to screw up. "Welcome back."

"...huh?" Scott asked, looking dazed half out of his mind.

Corry frowned. "The stabilizers they shot you up with are probably throwing you for a loop... how're you feeling?"

"Awful," the other cadet replied, thickly, closing his eyes again. That eloquently summed it up with a word.

"You look awful," Corrigan said, eyebrows drawn. Scott looked a lot worse than he was medically... tangled black hair a sharp contrast to his ghost white face, hazy-eyed, all together just exhausted. "It'll get better, though, and you don't have a concussion, so that'll cut down how long you feel miserable."

"Good." Not entirely awake, Scotty gave back into the urge to sleep it off, whatever it was. Undoubtedly, for him, oblivion was the safest place there was.

* * *

Scott still wasn't particularly thrilled with life when he woke back up, but at least he felt a lot better. Not quite so detached, and not quite so downright sick to his stomach... he still ached, but it wasn't with the same intensity.

Thank God Starfleet had decent medical technology. Now if he could just learn to tolerate their medical staff, he'd be pretty well off.

Blinking a few times in the darkness, Scott tried to get the clock's glowing numbers to come into focus, but they were all the way across the room and he still wasn't completely back to sorts. It was night, though, so it had to be quite some time since he'd last made an attempt at being conscious... from the sound of snoring on the other side of the room, Corry was still there.

Great.

The cadet made as little noise as he possibly could, crawling out of bed and shedding what seemed like a pile of lead blankets and comforters. Almost immediately he regretted it - maybe it was just him, but it seemed downright frigid in there. He wasn't about to lay around all night awake, however. Besides, he could still smell the smoke on him, and no matter how well whoever had patched him up had cleaned him up, even the trace scent was driving him nuts.

Well, at least he was on his feet and didn't feel like he was going to pass out again; not for some time, anyway. Creeping a little unsteadily to his dresser, he managed to dig out his civilian clothes... damn drawer had a squeak in it, he'd have to fix it later on. Cheap piece of junk, probably was as old as the dorms and heaven forbid Starfleet furnish the dorm rooms with anything better than substandard furniture.

All right, one step at a time. Sneak out, get a shower and hopefully get that smell off of himself first, go down to the lobby and get something to eat out of one of the machines second, and if he was still on his feet, maybe then make an attempt to get away from the dorms.

It sounded so simple. In reality, it wasn't... now that there wasn't a scream in his head and he had a chance to think clearly, Scott was almost surprised at how cool and calculating it all was, but not simple.

It seemed like nothing was simple anymore.

Trying to feel at least apprehension, he crept out of the room and closed the door. From there, it was easier - no one monitored the halls, no one was awake, it was just him. It only took ten minutes to shower and get his civvy clothes on, not even bothering to comb out his hair or look like the senior cadet he was supposed to be. He didn't feel like an officer.

Hell, he didn't feel like much of anything. One would think that after being assaulted, verbally and physically, he'd have some seriously strong emotions on the subject, but he didn't. He just didn't care... not about Corrigan, not about whoever it was who had burned his ship, not about himself. He'd gotten good at detaching himself from things over the years; apparently, he hadn't forgotten how to do that.

Well, maybe that wasn't entirely true. Scotty slipped down the stairs with the same silence he'd been using from the moment he'd gotten out of bed, more alert by the minute.

In the back of his mind, he wondered about her. In this state of unliving, unfeeling, uneverything, he still wondered about the _Lady Grey_. Of all of the things he had cared about in his life, from his family to his friends, to his dreams of being a starship engineer, only the _Lady Grey_ really remained.

It was somehow sad to him that even she was gone now. He should have been devastated or at least angry, but he wasn't. Just sad. It wasn't even the soul-stealing sadness that was his right... it was a numb, hollow pain. He kinda knew that one too well, too.

The lobby was low-lit for night, and even as sharp as he thought his reflexes were, he wasn't prepared to step around the corner and find his roommate waiting.

Really. Just great.

"Hey," Corry said, softly, breaking the silence of the room.

Scott gave him a cool nod. He didn't want to talk, but Corrigan's entire stance suggested that was what was coming.

"You look better." Corry forced a slight smile, leaning his shoulder on the wall looking, for all the world, like he was just itching to get into a long conversation. "Let me buy you a glass of water?"

"I can get it," Scott answered, civilly, stepping around Corry and heading for the water cooler. Of all the people in the world he'd rather not speak to, his roommate was on the top of the list.

Corry wasn't going to give up too easily, though. "Maggie was asking about you. She said she'd come by tomorrow and see how you were feeling."

"That's nice."

"Jerry stopped me in the hall and said I was one of the biggest assholes in the world."

Scott smirked. For some reason, he couldn't help being a little satisfied over that one. "Remind me t' thank him."

"He also said the same thing you did... that I didn't deserve the _Lady Grey_." Squaring his shoulders and looking like he was facing a firing squad, Corry clasped his hands behind his back. "I guess he must have put two and two together."

"Guess so," Scotty said, though the mention of his ship laced regret through his voice. Taking his water with him, he turned and started for the steps to the basement... he didn't want Corry to follow him, didn't want to get into any heartfelt discussions, didn't want to repair a friendship that had already taken everything away from him.

Most of all, he hated the fact that deep down, maybe he did.

"He was right." Not moving, hoping that the admission would stop the other cadet, Corry didn't hold back. "So were you." Shaking his head, he continued, "I never stopped to think. I wanted to make everything right with Dad, so I put my blinders on and forgot about all of the things that make up _my_ life.

"I'm not going to say that I'm really not interested in being a doctor or a scientist, because now that I've learned so much, I realize that I like it a lot. But I like engineering too... and... well, I guess maybe I should have tried to balance the two instead of just rushing headfirst into one."

Hating himself for it, Scott stopped and looked back. He didn't even know why he bothered, because everything that had been said and done by now had given him all of the reason he needed to walk away. But he did anyway.

Corrigan took a deep breath. "I really didn't mean what I said. If I could go back in time and shoot myself before I said it, then I would, because I've never, ever done something so mean in my life."

"That's a paradox," Scotty pointed out, for the sake of stopping this confession before it had a chance to break his resolve.

"You know what I mean." Closing his eyes, Corry plowed on, "What I mean to say, is that I don't deserve her and I sure don't deserve a friend like you."

Goddammit. This wasn't making it any easier, not at all. Jaw knotting, Scott didn't answer immediately, trying hard to keep himself from giving in and letting all of it go. He didn't _want_ to let it go, he wanted to write Corrigan off like he'd been accused of doing before... he didn't want to start caring again, not this soon. Not when there was a whole world of hurt itching to get at him if he did. Waiting until the uneasy silence had filled the room, he chanced saying, half-hoping that it would end this, "Ye're right, ye don't."

Corry swallowed hard, bowing his head. "I wish I did, you know. I wish I could have been there for the start of the keel, for the first rib, for the first crossbeam. I wish I could have helped hammer in every nail. God, if I could go back and change it, I would in a heartbeat."

Scott didn't say a thing. He remembered every moment that Corry had just rattled off, and every single one of them had a meaning to him now, even if they hadn't before. Of all of the things the other cadet could bring up, he had to bring the _Lady Grey_ up.

How long that quiet lasted was unknown, the two of them on opposite sides of the room like a pair of wary creatures, uncertain of themselves and even more uncertain of the other. It was strange how friends who would have done anything for each other could have gotten so far apart, how it all could have added up to this, but it had. There wasn't much use anymore in pointing out who had been wrong when, nor was there any point to assigning punishments. Now there were only two choices... to run with it or fight it; to leave it at that and probably never speak again, or to turn around and try to save something worth saving.

"Why?" Scott asked, after a time. It was a rather general question, but one that he at least wanted an answer to... he wanted to know why he should trust Corry again, after all of this. Why he should go back to that slip and start all over again.

Why he shouldn't just walk away, because dammit, that would probably be the safest, easiest thing to do.

"Because I _know_ you," Corrigan replied, without hesitation. "I know you can't stand people figuring you out, 'cause if they do, then they know how to hurt you. I know that I'm the last person in the world you wanna trust now, because that's exactly what I went and did. I know that the _Grey's_ something special, and that you went through Hell and back for me, not because you had to or anything, but because that's you. And I know me well enough to know that even if I leave now and we don't speak again, you're still the best friend I've ever had and ever will have."

Well. He couldn't have even begun to formulate a rebuttal to that. Scotty was usually pretty quick on his feet, but how could he answer? Really?

He couldn't. In twenty-one years, it had to have been one of the harder decisions he'd had to face - to forgive someone who cut him deep. But he was tired... tired of always being on the edge, tired of giving ground. It was a dangerous thing, to just try to let it all go. But then again, sometimes life _had_ to be that simple.

Friendship was a double-edged sword, but it was worth fighting for. "Have ye been to the slip?"

Corrigan blinked, no doubt surprised. After a moment, he nodded and said, "Yeah. Security had me down there giving reports."

"How bad was it?"

It took him almost a minute before he answered, "She had some damage on the keel, more on the port side. It can be patched, at least. Six of the port side ribs are completely unsalvageable, and two of the starboard. The crossbeams between them are pretty bad... it hadn't really caught on good by the time you got there, and all of the damage is amidships."

So she wasn't gone. Scott allowed himself a brief moment of sheer relief, feeling like the powers that be had just given him another chance to make it up to her. "...we'll have to get Jerry to pull his templates."

"And get a new stock of wood... that was what had burned." Corry finally stepped over, cautiously.

"I'll pull the schematics when we get back upstairs, and you can give me details," Scotty said, decisively, turning back and starting for the stairs. If he really felt up to it, he might have risked the long walk to the shipyards, but now that all of his limited energy had been used up on conversation far more meaningful than he was used to, it was a better idea to just go back and start the rebuilding tomorrow.

Corry debated for a moment, not willing to end it like that. "Scotty?"

"Aye?"

"Thank you." Swallowing his pride yet again, Corry added, "I woulda given up on me a long time ago."

For the first time in what seemed like forever, Scott looked over his shoulder and smiled a genuine, though tired, half-smile. "I suppose ye better be thankful I'm not you."

It was almost a surprise when Corry handed it back in sincerity. "More than ever."


	14. Part 3: Righting Arm: Chapter 2

_Chapter 2:_

_Tuesday, April 18th, 2243  
H&W Shipyards, Berth #22  
Team C Headquarters  
Belfast, Ireland, Earth_

Even streaked in white and black, charred amidships, she was still beautiful. There was an almost ethereal quality to the _Lady Grey_, lit in the dimmed lights of the berth, not even half completed. It could have been simply the way the lights reflected off of the fire-suppressant grimed on her frame, or maybe it was the way that the black soot complimented the white, but to Scott, it was because she just had that quality. She was like one of those beautiful women who seemed to take no effort on being that way, but happened to be lit by some sort of internal light.

Even like that, she made him catch his breath.

Stepping into the slip, he palmed the switch to bring the lights up and bring into sharp relief her lines. This was the first time he had managed to get away from Security, the campus doctor and the Harland and Wolff managers; the first chance he had to go back to his ship and see her.

Corry stepped in a moment later, looking around and frowning to himself over the mess. There was white powder everywhere, blanketing the tools and mixing with the grays and blacks of ash, but it was a far sight better than boiling smoke. "It'll take forever to-"

"Shhhh..." Some moments were better left to silence, and this was one of them. In another twenty minutes the rest of the team would be there and they would have to go back to work. It probably _was_ going to take a long time to get everything right again, not only on the schooner but in the slip itself... just not in this moment.

For now, Scott didn't want to say anything or hear anything, he just wanted to look at her. He had been so certain that she was gone, unrepairable and destined for dust - to know that she wasn't was kind of indescribable.

Seized on inspiration, he half-dragged Corry with him towards the front of the ship. Corrigan had never seen her from her bow, dead on, and before anyone else was there to break the silence, the Scott was determined to show him.

Corry allowed himself to be pulled along, though he was still eyeing the damage from the fire. Mentally he made notes, surprised in a lot of ways how all of the research he had helped with in the beginning of the project came back now, when he needed it. Of course, he had researched shipbuilding like he had medicine, with the same sort of intensity but less obsession, and he shouldn't have been too shocked to know it would all come back.

When they finally stopped, he was still turning the repair ideas over in his mind right up until he happened to glance up.

All thought left him, leaving behind nothing but awe. Logically, his mind might have told him that she was far from finished, but there wasn't a whole Hell of a lot of logic in the sheer power she almost radiated. What was there was just amazement... God, she looked like she could just slide out of the berth and into the water. In his mind, he could picture the jibs and staysails, the bowsprit, the masts far above that.

"Jesus..." was all Corry could really say. It was the only thing that expressed it.

Scotty nodded with no small amount of empathy, though not looking away from the schooner. Finally feeling that it was all right to speak again, he mused, "I wonder if all shipwrights felt like this."

"I don't know," Corry answered, softly, afraid to raise his voice. "It's a shame if they didn't."

"Aye... it is." Taking a few careful steps forward, Scott traced a careful hand down the wood, not particularly caring about the stain that came with it. "Poor lass. I'm itchin' to find who did this."

"Think we'll be able to finish her in a month and a half?"

Scotty turned and gave his roommate a wry grin. "D'ye think we have a choice? 'Course we're gonna finish her in a month and a half... even if I have t' use my entire savings hirin' people to help."

A deeper voice interrupted the two tenors, "It may come to that."

Corry and Scotty exchanged a glance and stepped out from in front of the ship. Barrett stood there, hands behind his back, giving no indication how long he had been listening. Smiling somewhat, he continued, "I certainly hope not, but if it does, I won't stop you from hiring anyone you need."

"Thank you, sir," Scott replied, neatly, unfazed by the new arrival. "Any word from Security on the saboteurs?"

"None." The professor shook his head, grimly. "The tapes from the external cameras are missing, there aren't any prints to be taken... I don't believe they have a clue."

"I have a few," Corry said, with a slight smirk. He had been working on it in his head almost as much as he had been working on the repair. "I tried to tell Security, but I don't think they believed me."

"O'Sullivan and his lot." Raising an eyebrow, Scott looked over at his roomie. "Right?"

"On the money."

Barrett frowned, looking around for a moment before eyeing the two cadets again. "You do realize that it won't be acceptable if you decided to take justice into your own hands."

"Us, sir?" Scotty replied, innocently. "Oh, no sir. We wouldn't do that."

"Not in a million years," Corry added, just as innocently and turning up the charm to be on the safe side. "We have far too much work to do to spend time plotting vengeance."

The commander's eyebrow went up, automatically. "Gentlemen, do yourselves a favor and don't even think about it. I'll mention it to Security myself, and perhaps that will prompt them to look further into it, but if you know what's good for you, you'll heed my advice. Theories do not make evidence, and you may find yourself in more trouble than it's worth." Taking a deep breath, he finished, "Now you'd best get to work... with the restrictions, you've got to make the most of your time."

* * *

When the rest of the team arrived, they did indeed get right to work... they only had from six-thirty in the morning to seven at night now, with the hour restriction that the shipyards had placed on the entire class's schedule. It was half amazing they hadn't kicked Starfleet out of the shipyards altogether.

Albright, in all of his quick thinking, had rigged up a pump and the _Lady Grey_ got her first taste of salt water from Belfast Lough. Three cadets manned the hose they used to spray off the mess that had caked on her, while Jansson supervised a team of five working on recreating the damaged ribs with what little wood they had stashed in the mold loft. The rest were set to work carefully tearing out the damaged ribs and crossbeams under Lewis's watchful eyes.

Scott and Corrigan spent most of their time on the comm link... the former because he was still under doctor's orders not to do anything strenuous, and the latter for the sake of haggling the best price for the wood they had to reorder.

"What do you mean, fifty credits a board?" Corry asked, doing the best he could not to pace in front of the comm box in the mold loft too much. "We're ordering it in bulk, here!"

"Fifty is bulk!" the voice on the other end said. "Since y'all happen to be a bunch of students, though, I might be willin' to take it to forty-five."

"And if I call Southwest Oak Express, they can give it to me for twenty." Exchanging a conspiring grin with Scott, the older cadet put on his best lawyer voice, "I might have to wait two more days for my lumber, but it's a more fair price."

"Nobody sells oak for twenty a board," the other man shot back, though he didn't exactly sound too confident in himself.

"They do if they have their own nursery." Faking a yawn, Corrigan leaned on the wall beside the box. "I'm in a hurry, though, so you give it to me for twenty-three a board, and I'll take it."

"I'm not goin' lower than forty."

"And the best you'll get out of me is twenty-five."

"...thirty-eight."

"Twenty-five and the highest praise we can sing. Great word-of-mouth advertising there."

"How much did y'all say you were orderin'?"

Corry glanced over at Scott, who puzzled over it for a moment before grabbing the drawing board and writing down a number. Nodding, Corry tried to sound casual as he said, "We'll need an order of five thousand board feet, cut to..." pausing for the moment it took his roomie to write down the length, he continued, "twenty-five feet each. Just to start."

It was a pretty respectable order. "Twenty-five credits happens to be damn low for quality wood like ours."

"Maybe so, but since we're building a ship, we'd be more than willing to tell everyone who provided the wood for such a handsome craft."

"Twenty-eight."

Corry sighed heavily, then let it remain quiet for rather a long moment. Then, putting on a slightly defeated aire, he finally gave in. "All right, it's a deal. I'll have the credits sent to your accounts receivable in four hours, you'll have the coordinates for transport, and that wood had better be here by tomorrow morning." Thumbing the off button, he grinned. "How was that?"

"Less'n what we paid for our first stock," Scotty admitted, trying not to grin back. "We'll have to do all of our own cuttin' and trimmin', but with a little good luck..." He shrugged. "Who knows?"

"Eh, we'll be fine."

"Speakin' o' wood, though... who the Hell is Southwest Oak Express?"

"I dunno," Corry said, lightly, shrugging as he pulled out his notepad with the comm codes for the rest of the businesses they needed to contact. "Apparently, neither did he."

Scotty chuckled, shaking his head. "If ye happen to get everyone down, we might not be too far over budget."

Corry keyed in the next set of codes, sparing a glance at Scott to ask, "How much do we have left?"

"After this? Probably close to thirty-thousand. Professor Barrett's gettin' our account upped to make up for the sabotage, but it won't be by too much."

"Guess we'll just have to be frugal." Corrigan leaned back on the wall as the comm connected. "Iron Works Intergalactic? Yeah, I'd like to speak to your manager in charge of sales..."

* * *

So ended the first day of work on the schooner _Lady Grey_ after her brush with fire. Scotty didn't want to leave... not this early, not so soon after he'd gotten there. What he really wanted to do was some actual work on her, but he wasn't quite back to normal himself yet. Not physically, and not quite emotionally either.

Better, but not there yet. Shaking his head, he tossed one last longing glance at the ship on her cradle, mentally telling himself that with all of the added precautions she would be all right without him. She would still be there in the morning, and if something did happen, he was bound to know.

Locking the door and only half-listening to the chatter of the rest of the crew walking away, he tried not to shiver at the memory and failed. The smoke was bad, and the heat, and so was most of the hazy aftermath, but it was remembering her desperate scream that sent chills down his spine. If he'd been too late, she might not be there. If he'd been too late...

The tap on his shoulder dragged him back to the present, and he blinked out of his daze, looking over at Corry. "Hm?"

"You okay?" Corry asked, not quite able to mask the worry in his voice.

Corry had gotten almost frightfully protective, and Scott wasn't sure what to make of it. It was kind of unnerving, to have someone watching over his state of well-being. He wasn't even sure of what to make of Corrigan himself yet, let alone that... that being worried about thing. "Aye. A bit tired, maybe."

"Be careful. Last thing you want is to end up on medical leave." Nodding, Corry put his hands in his pockets, starting down the wide road for the main gate.

"Yes, _mother_." Scott followed, clasping his hands behind his back as he walked. Usually he would be sarcastic, or at the very least snappy when he imitated his roommate, but right now, he could only manage a mix between distracted and tired. "Wonder where we can find ourselves a saboteur."

Corry shrugged, looking up at the sky. "I don't know. I think he's rooming in the Stranmills Road Dormitory."

"I don't think he was th' only one, though..." Frowning, Scott tried to piece together what little he could remember. Really, the whole damn night was a mess to him - parts were very clear and parts were almost nonexistent. "Someone yelled, I remember that, 'cause they were tryin' to take my head off with somethin' or another... not the same person, though."

"Recognize the voice?"

"Nu uh."

"Hrm." Corry pondered on it for a few steps. "What exactly do you remember, anyway?"

"After gettin' into it with ye?"

Wincing, Corrigan nodded. "Yeah."

"Walkin'. Ended up down here, and I remember thinkin' I'd just up an' sleep in the slip." Stopping, Scott closed his eyes and tried to call up as much detail as he could. It wasn't something he wanted to remember, let alone talk about, but maybe without so much distraction, he could piece it together again. "I keyed in the code on the main gate, an' got about halfway up the road here when..."

"When?" Corry prompted, having paused in his walk himself. He really wanted to hear this... wanted to know what had happened in something more than vague terms.

"I dinna know how t' explain it." Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Scott tried to put into words something he didn't really even understand. "It was... well, it was like somethin' was wrong. Felt wrong. Like it did when ye found out about yer Dad.

"An' I wondered what it was. What coulda caused it, 'cause it was jus' there suddenly. So I'm tryin' t' hear it, or smell it, or see it, an' then I caught a whiff o' the smoke."

Corrigan crossed his arms, listening. It wasn't often that his roommate actually let it be known what went through his head, just like it wasn't often anymore that his accent got away from him. Either or was a sign that he still wasn't back to an even keel again.

"She screamed." Scott was pretty sure Corry would think he was insane, but now that he'd started down this road, there wasn't any way to go back. Not opening his eyes, he continued, "She was screamin', the _Lady Grey_. I dinna remember much about the rest, jus' that bloody wail, up until somethin' hit me.

"I dinna see 'em, but I heard 'em, an' I was jus' tryin' t' breathe. Someone shouted, an' I jumped back... musta been when they sliced my head open, but I dinna remember that either. Got back up, an' I was gonna beat the Hell outta 'em, then she screamed again an' that was that. Up till after ye pulled me out's all sorta blank... somethin' about the panel, somethin' about the backup, an' then after we were back out, everythin' clears up till I blacked out."

"Screamed?" Corry asked, eyebrows up. If it were anyone else telling him all of this, he wouldn't believe them... but he believed Scotty. It was hard to imagine a ship screaming, but if anyone would hear it, that man would.

"Like... like a scream, but not..." Sighing heavily, Scott was plainly exasperated and upset with the whole thing. "Just _there_. It was all that was there."

Corry chewed on the thought for a minute, trying to imagine what it must have been like. But after a moment, he just said, "I can't imagine."

"Not entirely sure ye want to."

"Guess we'll have to make sure that nothing like this happens again before we can finish her." Corry grinned slightly, trying to take the edge off. "Not to mention, we have ourselves some badguys to walk the plank when she is done."

"A pair o' regular pirates, eh?" Scott had to smile at that mental image.

"Ayuh. Maybe I can be Blackbeard..."

"Ye'd have to do somethin' with that hair. Blackbeard wasn't blond."

"Just ruin my wicked ambitions," Corry said, though he was still smiling. "Well, _Wolf_, we can't all have really cool names like you."

"I earned that, fair an' square."

"I still think it shoulda been something closer to 'puppy' or 'cub', but if you insist."

Scott sighed heavily, and with annoyance so thick it couldn't be anything other than joking and said, "Ye're such a bastard."

Corry looked almost content as he replied to the old barb, "I know."


	15. Part 3: Righting Arm: Chapter 3

_Chapter 3:_

_Monday, April 24th, 2243  
H&W Shipyards, Berth #22  
Team C Headquarters  
Belfast, Ireland, Earth_

Once the wood came in, work proceeded with the extreme speed of determination. Given a clean bill of health, Scotty supervised and threw himself into the construction like a man with a mission. She was his ship, and dammit, he was going to finish her no matter how hard he had to work to do it.

Corrigan certainly did his share in the slip, but a few hours a day, he spent entirely on the saboteurs. It gave him a satisfaction bordering downright evil to tail O'Sullivan around, eavesdropping whenever he could to see if the cadet made any mention of the _Lady Grey_ and what had happened.

Oddly enough, though, it wasn't Corry who produced the biggest key to the mystery, it was Harrison. The Midwestern cadet had been the only one of the original mutineers who had stayed with the project, alternating his loyalties one way then the other. It was he who sought out Jerry Jansson not long before they were to finish work for the night.

"Sir?"

"Yeah?" Jansson asked, putting his mallet down. It had been another grueling day; first classes, one short simulation in zero-g, then working on the ship, and he was looking forward to crawling into his bed.

Harrison shifted his weight nervously, glancing around to make sure no one else was listening. "About the fire..."

Jerry blinked, but he somehow managed not to give away any surprise on his face. Keeping his tone neutral, he prompted, "What about it?"

"Well, I heard some things."

"Go ahead."

Harrison cast another glance around, looking for all the world like he was being stalked by a troop of professional assassins. Clearing his throat, he dropped his voice to a whisper, "Keith was talking about it... you know, saying that it was a good thing someone set her on fire because he'd been damned if his work would go to someone else's grade. He didn't actually say he did it, but he said that it was deserved."

Jansson nodded, though he was somewhat disappointed. If O'Sullivan hadn't actually admitted to it, then it would be very hard to do anything about it besides keep an eye on him. "Is that all?"

"Nu uh. He's volunteered for Team B."

Now that was more interesting. Team B, lead by Sean Kelley. They were building a steel ship, and as far as Jerry knew, they were behind schedule. It wouldn't have shocked anyone on C if Kelley had whispered a word or two to the Mutineers of Berth #22. "Did he mention anything else about the fire?"

Harrison frowned, swallowing hard. "One last thing... he said that 'it was a bleedin' shame the tyrant didn't lose his head'. I'm assuming he was referring to Mister Scott."

"All right... thanks John. I'll be sure to inform the rest of the team leaders." Oh, would he. This might be just the information they needed to proceed.

"But no one else, right? This stays between us, right? 'Cause I would get the Hell beat out of me if anyone knew I told you all of this-" Harrison said hurriedly, pale at the thought.

"Not a word," Jansson promised, cutting him off. "Hey, you're on our team, and we stick together."

Nodding and looking a little relieved, the other cadet replied, "That's why I told you."

* * *

"You are not going to believe who's dating Maggie Mersea." Corrigan stepped into the room, flushed and breathing hard. He'd almost missed getting in before curfew, and had to run all the way back in order to make it.

Scott frowned to himself as he sat on the dorm room floor, schematics spread out all around him. He was currently trying to figure out a schedule alternative that would allow them to make up some time on the construction... it was counting down far too quickly for his tastes. The week before they had conned, bribed and begged eight more people to join the team. That brought the grand total up to twenty-seven. Still not enough. "I give up, tell me."

"Keith O'Sullivan."

"Ye're kiddin'..." Forgetting about the schematics that quick, Scotty looked up with wide eyes. Maggie, dating that scumbag? Sweet, leggy, blonde Maggie?

Corry shook his head, looking as though he was blown away by it himself. "I saw her dancing with him across town." Pacing a few steps and only just avoiding the blueprints on the floor, he ran both hands through his hair, agitated. "I knew she went for the bad boy type, but I really didn't think she'd stoop that low. And she was wearing that dress... you know, the black one."

"The low cut one? The one that almost shows off her-"

"_That_ dress."

Scott groaned. Afterall, not only was she dating such a scumbag, but he hadn't even been there to see that dress, and though it might have been a bit crude, that would have just made his night. "And I missed it? Dammit!"

"Forget the dress, look who's she's schmoozing with!"

"Well, then I've got a bit more for ye to chew on." Sticking his pencil behind his ear, Scott leaned back against his bunk. "Harrison told Jer a few things... said our boy there was talkin' about how he was glad she got burned, an' how I shoulda lost my head."

Corrigan frowned, sitting down on his bunk. "Well, that kinda backs up that we think he did it, but it's not solid evidence."

"How many people knew about the attack on me?"

A lightbulb went off. Corry paused for a moment, eyebrows drawn together. "You know, most everyone knew you were hurt, but as far as I know, only Jerry, Joe, the doctors, the professors and I knew exactly how."

"Unless they happened t' be there?" Tilting his head, one eyebrow up and a quirky grin on his face, Scotty looked the part of the detective. "I've got one more for ye, though."

"Fire away."

"O'Sullivan's up an' volunteered to work for B."

"Holy..." Corry stood, then sat, then stood again, even more surprised by that. "Kelley's team. Since he's dating Maggie, he might be trying to get in good with her..."

"...or he might be tryin' to get that ship finished and rub it in our faces." Smirking, the other cadet crossed his arms. "Now, ye don' suppose we're gonna let that happen, do ye?"

Corrigan's face went through a few emotions; first musing, then determined, and finally, a downright wicked smile crossed his features. "You know, Sean's room is right downstairs, and he does room alone. Think we should pay him a polite little visit?"

Scotty got to his feet, returning the wicked smile. "I think that'd be a fine idea."

Gesturing to the door with a graceful sweep, Corry was somehow mischievous and fierce all at once. "After you."

* * *

"You can't do this! This is a complete breach of protocol!" Sean's voice was kind of squeaky, but then, Sean wasn't exactly in a great position to begin with. The Malone Road Dormitory was only three stories tall, but looking down it probably seemed a whole lot taller.

"As far as I know, so is burning another person's final," Corry said pleasantly, keeping the frightened Kelley from pulling away from the edge of the roof. "Wouldn't you agree, Scotty?"

"Oh, aye, absolutely," Scott answered, just as amicable. Arms crossed, he leaned over slightly to look at the ground below. "Tis a long drop. I think it could kill a man."

"Look," Kelley said, reasonably as he could manage in his trembling voice, "I didn't have anything to do with that. I may not like you, but I sure as Hell wouldn't stoop that low."

"Well, since ye happen t' have one of my mutineers workin' for ye now... and since this mutineer was talkin' about the fire... and since he seemed t' know just a wee bit too much... gettin' my meanin'?"

Corry nudged Sean a hair closer to the edge. "So anything you might know, spill it."

"God, I will, just get me off of this roof!"

"First the information, then you move."

Kelley held perfectly still for almost two entire minutes. It didn't bother his captors, seeing as how they were in no rush, but he was certainly upset. After a time, he managed to say, "I didn't know they were planning it, but Keith was talking about it the next day down in the cafeteria... I think he was fishing for some kind of praise. I was there, and so was Mark and Maggie. Maggie looked unhappy, and Mark just brushed it off."

"Did he actually admit to it?" Scott asked, both eyebrows up.

"Yes and no," Kelley replied, gulping and trying to keep back from the edge of the roof. "He was kind of vague, but he said something about wishing that he could finish the job."

"It sounds kinda like an admission to me. What d'you think, Scotty?" Corry pulled Sean back from the edge finally, now that he had gotten pretty much what he wanted.

"Kinda? No, it just does."

Sean's trembling toned down a little now that he wasn't staring death directly in the face. "What're you going to do?"

"Nothing ye need to be concerned about, Mr. Kelley." Scott was playing up the role of the smug git now, strutting back towards the door to the rooftop. "Ye'd best concentrate on yer own ship."

Corry smiled sweetly, adding, "And if you're really really smart, you'll forget this little unpleasant incident ever happened at all." With that, he turned and followed his roommate, leaving behind a very shaken cadet to think about what had just happened.

Scotty was waiting at the bottom of the steps, eyes narrowed in thought. Well, there wasn't a whole lot of doubt now that they knew who had burned the _Lady Grey_ - he just wanted to know how they could get O'Sullivan back for it. Afterall, Security wasn't likely to take them on their word alone, and they had already been convinced that the cadet wasn't involved.

On occasion, Scott wondered just how little common sense some of the Security officers had. He had certainly heard enough stories about their bravery, but for every heroic tale, there was also a tale of the security crewman who walked off alone in a foggy area on a hostile world and forgot to draw their phaser. It didn't exactly boost his confidence with that entire division.

"Think he should walk the plank?" Corry asked, once he'd joined his partner in crime in the stairwell. "I think he should walk the plank."

"Hm," Scott answered, absently, staring at the wall as he continued thinking. After a moment, he murmured almost to himself, "I didn't think Kelley would have done that... he's an ass, but not _that_ bad. An' I know O'Sullivan wasna workin' alone, so we still have a few more people to find."

"You've got an idea."

"Aye, a little notion." Finally looking back at Corry, Scotty grinned. "But nevermind that for now. What d'ye suppose we do a little more spyin'?"

"Tonight?"

"Why not?"

Corrigan sighed happily, a mock look of bliss on his face. "Ah, vengeance will be sweet."

* * *

"Ah, 'twas beautiful, m'lads, beautiful." O'Sullivan kicked back on his bunk, a glass... not a shot... a _glass_ of whiskey balancing on one knee. The informal dinner suit he wore was half-disassembled. The jacket was on the floor, his shirt was unbuttoned and some wine had stained one pantleg. It was in the wee hours of morning, when most would be in bed, but not Keith and not John Harrison, and not Tanner Thylita. Those three gents were quite happily awake.

They weren't the only ones. Corrigan sat on one side of the window, back against the brick wall of the Stranmills Road Dormitory, and Scott sat on the other side. They were silent - even their breathing was as soft as they could get it, though it was doubtful that the three cadets indoors would hear them anyway. They hadn't bothered to change out of uniform; dark gray and black worked well enough, but Corry had at least worn a hat to keep his hair covered.

And they waited. First O'Sullivan had come back and started chatting with Thylita about class the next day. Then Harrison had shown up some time ago and they all discussed what they were going to do on the break before internship. It had gone on and on, and now it was Keith reliving the date with Maggie.

In graphic detail.

Corry was fuming over it, his face red in anger. Scott wasn't really thrilled either, but he was more worried about his best friend blowing a gasket and giving up their cover. They couldn't afford to be caught in the act of spying, out after curfew, especially not now.

So, figuring that distraction might work, Scotty picked up a stick and drew a tic-tac-toe board between them in the dirt, very quietly. So far, it was working... Corry was worrying more about the game than about defending Maggie's dubious honor.

And the target kept chattering. His companions were obviously enjoying it, though the two cadets outside were almost miserably bored. Once he'd finished beating his roommate four times consecutively, Corry erased the board and wrote: 'I never knew spying was so boring.'

Scott leaned over and read it, a grin crossing his face. Taking the stick back, he wrote under that: 'It'll be worth it, I think.'

'I don't know, he seems to be happy with his current convo.'

'Wait til he has another glass.'

Corry shook his head and erased the whole thing so he could continue the painstakingly slow conversation. 'What are you planning?'

'Wait for it.' Shaking his head, Scotty gave Corry an enigmatic little smile. He wasn't about to give up his ideas just yet.

'No clues?' Corrigan wrote, eyebrows raised hopefully. He was desperately curious to know what his roomie was conjuring up, and had asked that question several times now.

Tilting his head for a moment, the other cadet thought about it, translating in his head for a few moments. Then, with very careful precision, he erased the message in the dirt and wrote in his neatest lettering: 'La mer ne pardonne pas.'

Great, he was resorting to French. Eyeing the words, Corrigan memorized them for the sake of translating them later on... maybe it would provide a clue to what the ultimate plan was. He only wrote under that, 'French?'

"You know," Harrison was saying, "the schooner's coming along pretty damn well now."

Scott and Corrigan both looked up in unison, holding their breaths. They had no way of knowing which side of the fence Harrison was playing - given the fact that he was still buddy-buddy with Keith, he could have very easily been working both. A regular double-agent. Admittedly, he had given Jansson the warning of who he thought did it, but that didn't mean he didn't have a master plan.

"An' those bleedin' bastards are gonna get credit for the work you, an' me, an' Tanner here did." O'Sullivan's voice didn't rise, even under the influence of the whiskey, but it had taken on a bitter, resentful tone. "I lost a credit already."

Harrison's voice was glib, lighthearted and smooth. "Yeah, but they got some grief at least."

"Not enough, in my humble opinion. If I get another shot, I'll see they get more."

"Hey, just don't leave me behind. Last time was wild," Tanner said, just as lightly. As if it were some sort of game. As if they hadn't committed arson, assault and potentially could have committed manslaughter.

That was it. Scott erased the last messages and wrote fast, all the while kicking himself mentally. 'We should've brought a recorder.'

'Too late now.' Corry wrote in response, after he'd grabbed the stick back. 'But now we know.'

Nodding slowly, Scotty mused on it for a minute while they listened. Unfortunately, the conversation had already turned back to Maggie... but now they did know beyond all doubt. Now they knew who the ringleader was, and at least one of his underlings.

Scott smiled a bit wickedly, erasing the messages and motioning for Corrigan to follow him. Slipping out of the bushes with the silence of a predator, he was already working hard on the next part of their vengeance... and the next part of the _Lady Grey_.

Corry lagged behind, wanting to hear what else they had to say about the girl he was crazy about. He couldn't believe that Maggie would have resorted to dating one of these clowns - it was almost like a comedy. She was so sweet, so nice to him; he had been mooning over her for years. It was like a grain of sand in an oyster to know that she would date someone like O'Sullivan before she would date him... irritating. But this grain wouldn't turn into a pearl.

Motioning Scotty off when the other cadet looked back, he was just about ready to go. He was just about to sneak off and go find a French dictionary to translate the mysterious message his best friend had written in the dirt.

"She up an' bitched about me hittin' him all night, though. I had to take 'er out t'night to make up for it, or she said she woulda dumped me on the spot."

It almost floored Corrigan. His eyes widened, and he didn't have any trouble holding his breath now. It couldn't be... she couldn't have...

He didn't get to hear the next part. His roommate had come back, and pulled Corry away from the window as quietly but as insistently as he could. Dumbfounded, Corry didn't fight back. His mind was racing a mile a minute.

So he didn't immediately register that anything was being said to him until they were almost all the way back to their own dorms.

"...an' so help me, he's gonna get his for this," Scott was growling, albeit softly.

Corry blinked a few times, then nodded. "Oh, Hell yes." Then, his voice dropping, he added, "Looks like he won't be the only one."

"Eh, we'll get 'em one by one, Cor. Have no worries about that." Sliding into the basement window with the easy grace of experience, the younger cadet disappeared into the blackness.

"And God help us when we do," Corrigan whispered to himself, before following.

* * *

When the alarm woke Scott up at 0600, he was not particularly pleased. His first desire was the smack the off button, but he managed to overrule that. If he slept through class, he would never be able to bring his grades back to their usual high standards. Yawning, he buried his face in his pillow for a moment, mind only on one thing: Coffee.

"La mer ne pardonne pas... the sea does not forgive," Corry said, softly, once he ascertained that his roomie was awake. "I didn't know you could speak French. Especially after you nearly bombed Basic Language."

"I can't," Scotty replied, stifling the second yawn. Rubbing at his eyes, looking for all the world like a kid who'd just been woken up from a nap, he finally sat up. "I can read it. Just a little... don't remember much, but Mum taught me some years ago. Enough to read recipes."

Corrigan nodded, leaning against the wall. He hadn't been able to sleep, not after the revelations of the previous night, so he had thought about it, translated the phrase, and when 0530 came around, had gone out briefly to retrieve the caffeine of the day. Little as had been said about the fight that night the _Lady Grey_ had been burned, he'd been trying to quietly work on repairing this friendship, and that meant going back to the good-natured persistence and thoughtfulness it had been built on in the first place. "Thermos of coffee on your desk."

"Ye're a lifesaver." Grabbing the thermos, Scott poured a cup into his well-stained coffee mug and sat back, eyes closed, just inhaling the aroma like a man deprived.

Corry managed a wan smile. "Normally I'm a bastard."

"Aye, that too. But not right now."

"You're being generous this morning."

"Had a good night." Scotty grinned somewhat mischievously. "We've got swabbies to walk the plank."

"Yeah... I know." Corry shook his head, trying to sound enthusiastic. He still couldn't believe that Maggie had been any part of it, but he doubted O'Sullivan would lie about something like that. She knew. Hell, she might have even been there. She might have been the one who shouted and saved Scott from a potentially serious concussion.

Needless to say, it ate at him like a rabid badger. His Maggie. The girl with the smile that lit the whole room.

Scott must've heard the unhappy tone. Opening his eyes briefly, he asked, "What's wrong?"

Corry glanced up, startled. "Huh?"

"Somethin's wrong," the other cadet said, unhesitantly, closing his eyes again and sipping at the hot, black coffee. It just wasn't like Corrigan to be that quiet, particularly when he was itching for revenge just as badly.

Corry nodded, even if it wouldn't be seen, and stood. "Yeah. I'll explain it later on though. I want to confirm a few things before I do."

"Aye, an' I'll let ye in on the plan later too." Once again, that wicked grin. "I think ye'll like it."

* * *

Corrigan cornered Maggie not much later. She was walking alone, which was a relief for the Corry - if O'Sullivan had been there, it would be a lot harder. Sidling up to her with a sweet little smile, he didn't even give a hint to what he was planning on talking to her about. "Heya, Maggie."

Maggie smiled, shifting her books and tapes to her other arm. "Hi, Corry. How are you?"

"Not too bad. Just a little tired... we've been working really hard getting our ship back up to specs." Frowning, Corry was watching her reactions like a hawk... a discreet hawk, but a hawk nonetheless.

"Really?" She shook her head, her blonde hair sliding over her shoulders. "That was so awful. Who would do such a thing?"

Corry sighed, heavily. It wasn't all an act; watching her hair move over her shoulders was enough to make him have to yank his mind back from the inevitable thoughts that came up. "Yeah, it was pretty bad. But we think we might know who did it."

"Oh?"

"We think Lewis might have gotten upset about the work. I've talked to him a few times, and Scott treated him kinda bitter, if you know what I mean."

The relief in her eyes was unmistakable, but her acting besides was perfect. Her eyebrows drew in concern, her face was composed, her voice was soft and compassionate. But her eyes told the story... it confirmed Corry's worst fears about her. She had been there. She was lying. "Well, I hope that someone does something about it," Maggie murmured. "Tell me how it goes, all right?"

"I will," Corrigan answered, smiling warmly. After she had walked away, he added under his breath, "You'll be one of the first to know."


	16. Part 3: Righting Arm: Chapter 4

_Chapter 4:_

_Tuesday, April 25th, 2243  
Malone Road Dormitory, Room 17  
Starfleet Engineering Academy  
Belfast, Ireland, Earth_

"All right, gents, let's hear it." Jansson sat at the workbench, a bottle of dark beer sitting beside a project Scotty had long since forgotten about. The design team to the _Lady Grey_ hadn't had a chance to say much more than a few sentences to each other - most of their time was spent working after class until the time limit. It had been another hard day. All of the repairs were finished in record time, and a good bit more of her hull had been laid out...

...and there wasn't a cadet on the team who hadn't looked at Scott oddly when, an hour before the limit was up, he had ordered them to stop working on the hull and to start on the bilge.

It was a mystery what was on the shipwright's mind. Corry was closer to a clue than anyone, and even he hadn't guessed.

Scotty apparently wasn't in a rush to give up his secrets, though. Sitting on his bunk, a rolled blueprint beside him, he was sticking strictly to coffee. This time, he had built the suspense up like a professional. "Corry, by all means."

"Well, we all know that yesterday Harrison came forward and told Jerry about O'Sullivan's yammering," Corry said, smoothly standing. He still wasn't in a great mood, given what he'd found out earlier, but that wouldn't stop him. "Scotty and I decided to do a little more digging. We took Sean up on the roof and grilled him under threat of death-"

"Bet that's why he missed class today," Albright said, grinning.

"Probably." Corry smirked at the memory. "But anyway, he basically confirmed our suspicions that O'Sullivan had been behind the burning of the _Grey_. So, once we finished with him, we decided to go do a little eavesdropping... spent hours sitting outside of O'Sullivan's room. Harrison was there, so was Thylita."

Jansson leaned forward so far he nearly fell off of the stool, and Albright wasn't a whole lot better. This was definitely the first they've heard of it.

Corry enjoyed the expressions they were wearing, and drew out the moment for all it was worth. Scott wasn't the only master in suspense.

"Go on," Joe prompted, once he'd had all he could take.

"Well, to cut a long story short, Thylita had been in on it." Corrigan put his hands behind his back. "They both agreed they'd do it again if they got a chance. Scotty here took off, and I stayed behind for another minute or so..."

Now Scott was looking a little bit tense. It didn't take long for him to realize that he'd missed something.

"...and O'Sullivan said that Maggie had chewed him up one side and down the other for attacking our architect here."

Three stunned looks in one sentence. Corry was on a roll tonight - even if he hated to think that Maggie was in on it, he still couldn't help but enjoy the fact that they had no clue, that he was on top of the game.

Scott finally found his voice again. It took a minute, and he was still pretty shocked by it, but he managed to ask, "That was why ye happened t' be so upset?"

"Yeah. I didn't want to believe it, you know. So I went and talked to her... told her that we thought we knew who did it. I swear, guys, she got this look like 'oh God', until I told her we were suspecting Lewis. Then she looked relieved."

"Lewis'll love that," Albright muttered, quietly, still absorbing all of this. It was hard to imagine Maggie doing anything less than nice. It was even harder imagining her doing something so downright devious.

"That's three." Jerry took a hard slug of beer, apparently needing it right then. "Three people in on the sabotage."

"And no less'n two on Kelley's team." Taking his cue, and the stage, Scott finally pulled his schematic out. Unrolling it with the finesse of a very planned movement, he laid the paper out in front of him on the bunk.

The other three cadets moved over to look. It was a schematic for the _Lady Grey_, a side view showing her entire length. The schematic itself was original, but there were hastily written notes, and a few things added to the drawing. Well, honestly, it was more than a few things. It was several things.

Corrigan almost fell over. Unlike the other two, he knew immediately what had been changed, and what those changes meant. After a minute, Jansson looked up, and only ten seconds after that, so did Albright.

Corry's voice was very soft, almost a whisper in the dead silent room. Looking up and meeting his roommate's gaze, he couldn't keep the mix of admiration and surprise out of his words. "La mer ne pardonne pas..."

Scott nodded once, as elegantly as a pragmatic engineer possibly could. "The sea does not forgive."

"Amen," Jansson whispered, touching the schematic as if to confirm this was real. It was so outlandish, so insane, so... well, right. Albright laughed next to him, just for the sake of it.

Finally giving into a laugh himself, Scott leaned back and crossed his arms. "Twenty-four guns, lads... twenty-four guns."

* * *

To say that it was going to be easy would have been a bald-faced lie, but to say that the cadets weren't determined would have been even worse. They had spent the rest of the night planning it out, too excited to sleep and talking a mile a minute. When 0530 rolled around, they ran down to the restaurant by the shipyards, and had a quick breakfast. Not speaking, they were stealing sly, conspiring glances across the table, generally acting like a group of barely grown men with an outrageous and potentially stupid plan.

And when classes started at 0630, they began to set the gears into motion.

Albright immediately went down to the machine shop, taking an inventory of the equipment kept there. It had been decided that, in order for the _Lady Grey_ to keep her trim, they would have to find an alternative weight for the guns. Ships cannons were originally made of iron and some weighed literally tons; the _Grey_ was a schooner, though, and there was no way she could support the pure weight of twenty-four iron cannons and keep her racing-style handling. So it was up to Joe to come up with an alternative, and being the mathematician, it was only right.

Skipping out of his first three classes, Jansson spent his time alone in the shipyards, building templates for the gun ports. Scott had allowed for twenty guns on her first below deck, and four guns mounted on her main deck... two bow chasers, two stern chasers. The twenty below were going to end up being twenty-four pound shot - in ammunition alone, she would have a lot of added weight, but Albright would have to be the one to determine how much they could carry without drastically effecting her sailing performance.

Scotty simply worked on his classwork. Pearson was quite pleased to have his star student back in what he considered to be the proper frame of mind for a Starfleet engineer, and Scott was quite pleased that the captain wasn't breathing down his neck. Afterall, if Pearson couldn't see into his thoughts, he couldn't see just how far from that state of mind the cadet actually was.

And it fell to Corry to be the actor. The best of his troop, he found Barrett in his office between one class and the next. He stepped in, smiling. "Sir?"

"Yes, Mister Corrigan?" Barrett looked up from his desk and the slew of papers there. Most of them were forms for his retirement; pension, commendation bonuses, release slips for his office and the equipment he wasn't keeping, and any number of other things.

"I was going to ask you if you plan on having a sailing day, once we're finished with our final." Corry put his hands behind his back, practically radiating enthusiasm. "I mean, after all the Hell we've gone through - pardon me, sir - I think we should at least be able to take the _Grey_ out."

Barrett raised both eyebrows. "Do you think you can get her finished before the deadline? Because of the sabotage, I was going to just grade the class on what they have finished."

Corrigan nodded. "Yes, sir, I think we'll have her done. Mister Scott has reworked our entire construction schedule, along with a few minor plan changes."

"Plan changes?"

"A few little things that might make it go smoother," Corry said, careful not to let slip any nervousness he might have felt. If Barrett asked for the revised plans, the whole thing could go under. "And frankly, sir, after all he's gone through, it's only fitting he gets to take his ship out."

Barrett smiled, chuckling, "His ship. Well, I'll send a memo out and see if anyone else would like to participate. I think the idea of a few windjammers out there again would be very idyllic. A good note to retire on."

A brief flash of guilt shot through Corry, but it was far too late to change tracks now. Maybe not literally too late, but the line had been drawn and they were going to step over it no matter what it took. "I think Team C would really appreciate it, sir."

"All right, let me see what it would take. Is that all?"

"Yes, thank you sir." The cadet turned and stepped out. When the door closed, he took a deep breath to get his thoughts in order, prepare for everything he'd have to work on next, and walked away.

* * *

Meanwhile, back in Harland and Wolff's Berth #22, Albright was giving his report to Jansson. Pacing the floor of the mold loft, the mathematician ran down the figures. "I think it's possible to get the cannon weight down to just about three hundred pounds apiece. That'll add three tons to her on the twenty... it's not too significant, compared to what it would have been."

"What'll we be using?" Jerry didn't look up from the schematic, a ruler in his other hand and a timber on the floor.

"A duradium and steel mix. Best part is, they can withstand higher temperatures than the iron could, and the duradium's strong enough to resist warping and scarring." Almost jumping from the pure energy he had, Joe Albright was grinning like a madman. "Man, Jerry, if we do this, we'll go down in _infamy_."

"Go down is right," Jerry chuckled, setting the ruler aside. "Our careers are gonna come to an end."

"Not if I can help it," Corry broke in, closing the door to the loft. "I'm gonna do everything in my power to make sure we still have jobs after this."

Jansson took a few hard breaths. He had almost expected it to be someone who could stop them in their tracks now, before they had even gotten started. "You scared the Hell outta me..."

"Sorry." Not looking particularly apologetic, Corrigan knelt beside the schematic. "Barrett's going to try to get us out on the water when we finish. We _have_ to have this ship done by next month, even if it means going on the sly and sneaking in here like a bunch of commandos."

"The four of us can't do it alone." Albright went back to pacing, working on it out loud. "The rest of the construction team needs to be let in on it, and if anyone leaks, we are in really deep shit. Deep enough to bury us for archaeologists to find in a couple hundred thousand years."

Corry shook his head, standing again. He couldn't hold still himself. "The only person I'm worried about is Harrison. But I think we can find a way to deal with him."

"For a month?" Joe frowned. "We can't very well keep him away from here for a whole month."

"We can if we send him out to get the sails made, the brassworks, the ropes and pullies... we'll lose points for not making all of those ourselves, but on the deadline we've got, we'll just have to take the hit."

Jansson finished cutting the timber to its lengths with a low-heat cutting torch. Not entirely historical, but then, they were running so close to the wire that the templates just couldn't be a waste of time. "Are you ready to send him out today? Because by 0200, I'm going to have the first port ready to fit, and then everyone who sees it will know."

"I could. Won't be easy, but I could." Corry took a deep breath. "I'm going to see about ordering double sets of everything, in case he can't be trusted. The last thing we need is to finish this ship and end up having no sails or something."

Albright gave Corrigan a shove, impatient and ready to go. "Get to it, then!"

The project leader flashed a beaming grin, waved and ran out the door.

* * *

"Now, ye all know what happened here... and ye all helped bring it to rights again." Scotty hated public speaking. He didn't mind barking orders when he had to, but trying to come up with a speech was like being rolled over razor blades. Still, it was his idea, and his job to make it clear what would be done. So the other twenty-odd cadets stood on the floor while he balanced on his ship, and he did the talking. "But ye also know that Security's basically closed the book on the whole bloody affair, and those who did it still haven't come t' any sort o' justice."

The agreement was quiet, but unanimous. Harrison was gone, and the rest of the team had been loyal pretty much from the get-go, even when pressure had built up.

Steadying himself, Scott continued, trying to think ahead to how he would explain. "I won't assume all of ye want to get 'em back for what they did, but I'd like to think I'm not the only one who does. So, to cut right to it... the design team's decided to arm the _Grey_ with guns. And if it all works out, and the senior cadets get to take their ships out... we're goin' to retaliate then."

That certainly got a response. The entire group broke into noise, everyone talking at once. Scott made no effort to speak over the din, just settled back to wait for it to quiet down... though, given the general responses, it seemed to be greeted with more skepticism than downright refusal. There wasn't a cadet in that building who didn't feel something for the _Lady Grey_ by now. Even those who weren't originally part of the team had grown to enjoy it simply for the reason that they were a part of something grand. She wasn't a starship, but she was something special anyway.

Those who had been there for the entire affair had felt wronged by the sabotage. Those who had joined up just a week or so ago sympathized. And all of them knew that even if they did go through with this, it wasn't going to be them who really paid the ultimate price - that would belong to the men in charge, simply because it was their responsibility.

So when it finally lightened somewhat, and the chatter became tolerable, Scotty sketched in the details. Once finished with that, he offered anyone who wanted it a chance to walk away without any repercussions.

Not a single person did.

Team C went to work on the _Lady Grey_ with renewed vigor. Oh, they had cared before, but now it was something entirely different. Now, it was practically destiny... that or they thought it was just incredibly neat to arm a ship with cannons and blow someone else's ship up. Either way, they were practically singing.

Corry helped set the first gunport. He could say that there was a lot of exhilaration in that alone... in a sense, they were bringing to life what they had planned only the night before. Smiling to himself as he braced the frame with a few other cadets where her hull had been cut to make it fit, he couldn't help but wonder if Starfleet would appreciate how well they were working as a team now, even if they didn't agree with what was being worked on.

It was going to be rough when it all played out and he knew that every single one of them could be brought up on charges... conduct unbecoming, assault, reckless endangerment... any number of things would be flung at the cadets. But Andrew Corrigan knew one thing for certain - if anyone was going to take the brunt of it, he was.

Scotty wouldn't like that. Corry knew that already; he could see it coming a parsec away. Afterall, the younger cadet had put so much into the _Lady Grey_, and he had worked out this whole plan to attack at sea, so he would naturally take responsibility.

Well, Corry owed his roommate one. Musing on it as he held the wood, ignoring the strain in his arms, he had decided that much last night while they were planning. Oh, he still wanted to transfer to the medical division, still wanted to learn more about the sciences, but until that night when the _Grey_ was burned, he had no real clue about what he would be giving up. Maybe Scott didn't intend to show him... in fact, he absolutely didn't. But he'd provided a Hell of a wakeup call anyway.

That was why Corry had gotten so protective. The whole night had terrified him, smacked him hard upside the head and made him think about just how ridiculous he had been. It had all added up... knowing about the _Lady Grey_, and about why she was so important to the other cadet, knowing that not only had he been outright heartless to someone who was only trying to watch out for him, but someone else had... Corry was determined to make up for it. It would take awhile, and he didn't care if he seemed like a mother hen, but he wasn't going to give up.

Friends like that just didn't come along more than once in a lifetime.

Stepping back when the port had finally been braced there, he wiped his forehead off with the back of his arm. It seemed like they had so far to go, and not enough time to get there... like they would be running so close to failure that it made a permanent home outside of the door.

"We'll get 'er done," Scotty said, as though he could have read Corry's thoughts. "Oh, she'll be somethin' to see, Cor... somethin' special."

Corrigan grinned in answer, turning to face his roomie. "Yeah?"

"Aye, damn straight." Scott sounded like he believed he was invincible. "I'm hopin' Barrett comes through with the sail."

"I think he will." Chuckling to himself, Corry moved over to start working again, laying down the hull planking. That attitude of invincibility was infectious, and it wasn't long before he was just as convinced that she would be done and that it would all work out how they planned.

* * *

It was into the next week when Barrett called a meeting. It was the first time since the day after the sabotage that his entire senior class was all in one room, and the amount of talking was almost unbelievable. Only Team C really knew why everyone was there, and they were talking themselves - though it was plotting they were doing, not speculating.

Barrett waited patiently for it to quiet down, standing in front of his podium with his arms crossed. It was a stance officers tended to adopt when they wanted to be listened to, and after so many years, the old professor had it perfected. It didn't take more than thirty seconds for the room to fall silent; conversations tapered off, voices softened to whispers then to nothing, and everyone waited to hear what he had to say.

"Ladies, gentlemen," Barrett started, smiling warmly at the whole class. "I've called you here today to propose something... something I think you'll all like quite a bit."

_"No doubt we will,"_ Scotty thought, a grin crossing his face before he could stifle it. Forcing himself to look blankly interested, he leaned his elbows on the desk and listened.

"Now, I know you've all put a great deal of work and thought into your finals. I'm very proud of the way the teams have pulled together, and of how hard you've all tried. So, instead of simply grading you and leaving it at that," Barrett said, smoothly, "I've arranged for a race."

Almost immediately the chattering started again, rather like a flood. Corry, nearly ready to launch through the roof in pure excitement, leaned over to his roommate. "A race! My God, it's too perfect!"

"Shhh!" Scott hissed, though he just wanted to jump himself. Corry was right, it _was_ too perfect.

"Now, you'll all be graded before the race, and the race itself will have no bearing whatsoever on your academic work. This is purely for fun, cadets." Barrett looked excited himself, a rare sight to see, as he walked over and uncovered the blackboard. "Naturally there has to be some incentive to win, because all of you are going to have to learn how to use these creations of yours. So I arranged for a unique prize...

"The winner will have the opportunity to name the next starship commissioned after their own vessel, and the entire team will have a plaque onboard this starship giving them credit."

If the idea of racing hadn't won them over, the prize sure did. Starships were usually named by the top brass, after some historical figure or some historical ship. That one group of cadets would have that opportunity, an opportunity to be remembered in such a way... it was incredible. The whole theater was deafened by the cheering; the enthusiasm couldn't be cut with a fully charged phaser bank.

Barrett didn't even try. On the board, underneath the rules for the race and the prize, he wrote: 'Full details will be sent in a memo. Dismissed.'

Jansson ran over as the cadets began filing out, leaping every step like a jackrabbit on stimulants. "A race! A race, a race, my ship for the race!"

"I can't believe it," Corry laughed, shaking his head and still ready to just launch. "Oh, this couldn't be more perfect. If I planned it all myself, it couldn't be more perfect."

"Ohhhh yeah, ohhhhhhhh yeaaaaaah..." Albright giggled, bouncing back and forth. "We have to get back to the slip. As in right now. Hell, as in ten minutes ago!"

Scotty grinned. "Race ye?"

"GO!" Corry took off first, dashing out of the door and almost running over a few stray cadets in the process. The other three chased after him, as they ran through the halls and out of the building.


	17. Part 3: Righting Arm: Chapter 5

_Chapter 5:_

_Friday, May 5th, 2243  
H&W Shipyards  
Team C Headquarters  
Belfast, Ireland, Earth_

Open the seams, caulk between the planks. The wood didn't want to give now that it had dried and tightened to the frame of the schooner, but to make her as watertight as she would have to be to face the seas, it was necessary. Pull the wedges, let the boards settle on the cotton, tar and strands, let it dry and smooth it over.

The next seam. It was a progression, following behind the team who laid the final boards to rest on her stern and transom. There was a symmetry there; they all had a job and knew exactly how to do it.

In the old days, working outside, ships took a long time to build. Back then, there had been no lights or indoor berths big enough for these crafts, so her builders had to work in the elements, all seasons. There had been no measuring devices so precise, no tricorders to record the exact composition of everything, and there had been no Starfleet cadets so determined to either sail into glory or ruin.

The twenty-four gun schooner _Lady Grey_ was something purely unique.

The men who worked on her had long since abandoned several of the historical practices they were originally using, turning to more modern ways of getting the job done faster. But even though they now cut the wood with precise micron torches, measured to the decimals of a millimeter to insure there would be no re-cutting needed, they still walked away with tar under their nails and callouses on their hands.

Scott had managed to find a nice middle ground, and that just thrilled him to no end. Now, instead of trusting an old hand-saw with his timbers, he could use the technology that he loved so much to make the ship that much better. Afterall, he was building her to last. He might end up failing the class and being held back another year, but he sure was going to have a nice legacy for it.

Her hull was almost finished. Taking a break from the work, one of the very few he allowed himself, he stepped back and trained a sharp gaze over her starboard side. Inside of the hull, another group of cadets worked on putting in her ceilings and bulkheads, and a team of three worked with Albright on the cannon problem. The bilge would be done just after the hull, maybe a day later at most. Her below decks would be finished a few days later, and then they could lay out her maindeck.

Frowning slightly, he ran through the math again. For the most part, she would be all right with the guns on her first below deck... but if she heeled too terribly far over, those ports would be underwater. And the last thing he needed was for her to start taking on water through the gun ports - one of the things he had to compensate for when he decided to turn her into a ship of war. Originally, she wasn't designed for it, but he couldn't very well turn around and start all over.

Mulling the problem over, he paced up and down the length of her hull, trying to figure out a way to make those ports as water tight as possible. On a rough day, wind on the beam, she would heel a fair bit... one good gust could put those ports under, and it would take half the crew on the pumps to get the water out. Meanwhile, her center of gravity's been changed, as well as her righting arm, and if they ended up in a gale, she could well go down on that alone.

"I've been thinking," Corry said, pausing himself and jogging to catch up to his pacing roommate. "The recoil on those guns - it's gonna be something serious."

"Mm hm," Scotty replied, not really paying much attention. He was worried about the guns, but he was more worried about the _Grey's_ structural integrity.

Corrigan didn't take any notice of the absent look, and continued cheerily, "Well, you know there'll normally have to be a bunch of guys on the breeching ropes, right?"

"Aye..."

"Well, what if we were to get a really strong rubber-type-thing, and set it up to be connected once the gun's run out? I mean, it'll have to be able to absorb the shock and not bounce the cannon through the hull, but I'll bet we can find something in the database we can use."

Scott nodded, still working on the other problem. "All right, look into it and-" Blinking a few times, he stopped, thought about it, ran it over logically. "Corry, ye're a genius!"

"Am I?" Corry grinned, brightly. "I thought you'd like it."

"The gunports! Line the gunports with a seal, dog 'em down right good..." Jumping once in pure excitement, Scotty took off for the mold loft.

Corry raised an eyebrow, watching for a moment. Well, that was kind of strange... still, apparently something made sense about it. Shaking his head, he turned back to the ship and grabbed a wedge to spread the next seam.

As fast as they were working, it was hard to imagine that they wouldn't be finished in time. Knowing that they were going to be under a wire, Corry had asked for volunteers, and since he could charm better than Scotty could, he had gathered another five people to work in only a few days. That brought their grand total up to thirty-one... a respectable enough number. The best part was, four out of the five had some sailing experience.

"Port side done!" Jansson sang out, and it was the sweetest sound in the world.

* * *

"Polaris... and Etamin, and over there's Deneb." Pointing up at the spanned ceiling of the slip, Scott was definitely in a mood that could only be described as 'out there'. The foredeck of the _Lady Grey_ had been started, and on a whim he had decided to climb up there. So, laying on unvarnished decking, a dreamy tone in his voice, he was far closer to the stars than one would immediately think possible in an indoor berth. "Altair and Vega, o' course..."

Corrigan sat against the bulwark, just listening. It was desperately late... or early, however one looked at it, and the front of the slip was dark. They had a two weeks and five days to finish the schooner; it was going to be so close to the wire that it was downright frightening. Her bilge was completely finished, as were the belowdecks. Day and night cadets worked in shifts, sneaking into the shipyards like bandits whenever the yards had been closed down to them. One team would work solidly from 0630 to 1430, mostly composed of whoever could afford the personal leave time to cut class. The next team worked from 0230 to 2000, made sure they were seen leaving, then crept back in and worked until curfew. And, from curfew at 2200 to 0630, the small graveyard shift worked.

It required lots of illegal dealings (breaking and entering came to mind), and it required hacking into the security cameras to run a continuous loop tape of the night-time, empty shipyard, and it required lots of silence and sleeplessness, but the ends justified the means. At least, to Corry they did.

It was the only way they could hope to complete her, and so far it had worked fabulously. Between their shifts they slept and studied for their other finals, and it wasn't uncommon to hear them shouting back and forth, quizzing each other in test preparation.

It was still going to be desperately close.

"D'you think we'll get her finished?" Corry asked, quietly, before he even realized it.

Not looking away from the imaginary stars, Scotty said confidently, "Aye, I think we'll be done in plenty o' time."

Corrigan nodded, though he wasn't convinced. Even with their extra hands, even as well as they had the system worked out, it was too close to call in his opinion. "How long do you think it'll take to step in the masts once we have the deck finished?"

"A day to get 'em in, another day or so to properly fit the collars, and who knows how long to set the stays." Scott shrugged, awkwardly, then went back to his stargazing. "Capella, and Regulus... 'course, they all just have number names we can use, but those sound so bloody impersonal."

"The sails and that should come in soon. I did order doubles for everything."

"Alioth, Dubhe, Markab..."

"You're really into that, aren't you?"

"Mm hm."

Corry looked up at the ceiling of the slip, halfway wishing he could see the stars that were being named. But it was raining in Belfast - as usual - and all there really was up there were a whole lot of archways and plating. Shaking his head with a wry chuckle, he stretched out on the decking himself, putting his arms behind his head. "Orion's gone, I think."

Scott nodded, almost solemnly. "Aye, up an' runnin' from that scorpion. T'would be a miserable thing, bein' chased for all eternity like that."

"Yeah, I think it'd get old after so long." Corry pointed to a spot on the ceiling. "Big Dipper."

"Little to the left," Scotty corrected, good-naturedly, pointing in the right direction. Yawning, he added, "Right up there, and follow it to True North."

"True North is one degree off Polaris."

"Picky, picky."

Corrigan shook his head, closing his eyes with a smile. "You corrected me, it's only fair I return the favor."

"Eh, I just think ye're _persnickety_." Grinning wickedly, the other cadet closed his eyes as well.

Corry gasped in mock horror. "_Persnickety?_ This from you? Yeah, you just keep thinking you're the head honcho, Pup, and I'll just keep pulling your fat out of the fire."

"Wolf. That's Wolf t'you."

"Maybe Cub, maybe Pup, maybe even Mutt... but not Wolf."

"Bastard."

Corry shook his head to himself with a grin. "That's me all right."

Steadfastly ignoring him now, Scott just went back to his constellations. "Draco, Leo, Perseus..."

It took him on the whole of another three minutes to talk himself to sleep.

* * *

"Gun ready!"

The quiet Irish field had been singing softly in the wind before they showed up. The grass had danced in the breeze, the day had been gorgeous and the countryside was a perfect picture of peace and quiet. For miles around there was nothing but trees and grass, a cottage or two, and this lovely serenity that could permeate the body and revive the spirit of man.

Then they showed up and ruined it all.

"Run 'er out!" Corrigan barked, in a voice that would impress anyone who knew how he usually spoke. Standing there in his civilian clothes, striking a dramatic stance, he could have really been a pirate.

Albright, Jansson, Lewis and Sallee pulled on the tackles, bringing the gun up to the makeshift port that sat so oddly on the countryside. Scotty, in all of his occasional foolishness, stood well behind the gun, while Balimer prepared to pull the cord and fire.

Corry grinned, just because he could. "Fiyah!"

*BOOM!*

The gun recoiled, perhaps going a little bit further back than intended, and though it didn't smack into Scott full force, it still knocked him backwards into a patch of mud. The cannonball whistled through the air, thudding into the ground loud enough to be heard even at a distance of hundreds of meters.

"Bloody Hell," the slightly surprise cadet muttered, getting back to his feet and giving the gun a glowering look. "Reload!"

"We should check the recoil," Corry commented, pleasantly, beaming a smile at his less than thrilled roommate. "Seems she's flying back further than we thought she would."

Scott growled, brushing the mud off... or trying to. In the end, he only really succeeded in making himself dirtier. "Ye just figured that out, did ye?"

"Oh, come on. On some pleasure planets, a mud bath costs a fortune."

"Corry?"

"Yeah, Scotty?"

"Shut up."

Corry snickered, watching as the inexperienced gun crew did their best to swab out the cannon, reload the powder and ball, and take up the tackles. It certainly took them long enough, but then, it wasn't like they weren't going to get better with practice.

"Gun ready!" Albright hollered, a note of joy in his voice as his cannon was performing like he expected.

Corrigan gestured grandly to his roomie. "Captain Larsen, by all means."

"Run 'er out!" Scott yelled, no less impressive than Corry. He wasn't going to be shown up - well, he was already shown up because he'd made the mistake of trusting the gun's recoil and the men on the breaching ropes, but he wasn't going to lose any more face. Standing well to one side, he waited and then commanded, "Fire!"

*BOOM!*

They watched the trajectory, kind of impressed. Afterall, it wasn't easy to get a cannon, ammo and powder into the middle of no where - it was kind of nice to see it hadn't gone to waste.

Corry waited until the ball hit the ground before saying, "Just a pointer..."

Scotty rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Aye?"

"It's not 'fire', it's 'fiyah'." Nodding smartly, the older cadet took the next one. "Reload!"

"What's the damn difference?"

"Finesse, my backwards little Scotsman, finesse!"

"Ye're enjoyin' this way too much."

"Gun ready!" This time Jansson got to sing it out. Their time was improving, if he did say so himself. Taking up the tackles, he looked back expectantly.

Corrigan struck another dramatic pose, much to the annoyance of his best friend. "Run 'er out!"

"_Waaaaay_ too much." Shaking his head, Scott watched the gun being pulled back to the port. They wouldn't have another shot there, not with the way the wheels were digging ruts into the ground, but they could always move the whole ensemble over.

"FIYAH!" Corry bellowed, extra loud for good measure.

*BOOM!*

"I think it'll be impressive," Scott mused, jogging over in all of his mud stained glory to help push the gun to another spot.

Albright grinned proudly, pulling the cannon into it's new position. "So what do you think, Wolf? Good machinery?"

"The best," Scotty answered, honestly. "Ye've outdone yerself, Joey."

"Hey, I helped," Jansson protested, though not very strongly. It was too much fun firing cannonballs and watching the black dirt fly up where they hit.

Corrigan finished dragging the makeshift port over. "All right, maties, back to work." Giggling somewhat maniacally, he could help but adding, "ARRRRRR!"

The other five cadets gave him a worried look, and he cleared his throat. "Sorry... reload!"

"Arrrrr?" Scott asked, stepping back to join his roomie, one eyebrow raised in pure amusement.

"Seemed like the right thing to say," Corry explained, turning a little red. "Besides, we need to get into the spirit of it somehow, right?"

"Oh, absolutely." Scotty was laying the sarcasm on with not just a trowel, but a bulldozer.

"Gun ready!"

"Run 'er out!" Scott called, quite smartly in his own opinion. Corry wasn't the only one who could play the part of a naval officer, not in the least. When the gun was in place, he smirked and barked, "FIRE!"

*BOOM!*

"Fiyah, dammit, fiyah." Corry shook his head. "Amateur."

"Cor?"

"Yeah?"

"Feel free t' take a long walk-"

"I know, I know, off a short pier. Reload!"

It went on like that for another twenty minutes or so, one shot after another flying across to the hill on the other side of the small river below them. The times were improving, as was their aim. They were feeling quite proud of themselves when something beeped insistently.

Scotty frowned, pulling his communicator out of his pocket and scraping the mud off of the case before flipping it open. "Scott here."

The voice came over the small speaker, calm but with an underlying edge of urgency. "You guys had better pack up your gun. If what I'm hearing through the grapevine is correct, Starfleet security's being sent out to investigate some odd happenings right in your vicinity."

Corry swallowed hard, and the rest of them all edged in close to hear. Taking the communicator and ignoring the glare he got from Scott, he asked, "When was this?"

"About ten minutes ago, so you'd better get moving post haste."

"All right, out." Corrigan flipped the communicator closed and shot an anxious look around the group. "We've got maybe three minutes to ditch this gun and get out of here."

"So what the Hell're we standin' here for?" Looking around frantically, Scott tried to figure out exactly how they would get a three hundred pound gun, plus all of the ammo and powder packed into the air van they had rented. Later in his life people would call him a miracle-worker... apparently that particular talent hadn't quite kicked in yet.

Albright immediately started pushing on the gun, but it wasn't in the direction of the van. "C'mon, we have to move!"

"Where're you going?" Corry asked, looking between the gun and the van, the gun and the van.

"The river!"

"Jesus Christ!"

"Dinna think He's listenin', Cor," Scotty muttered, grabbing an armful of the gunpowder bundles and making for the river like a greyhound.

Jansson didn't even pause, just threw himself into pushing on the twenty-four pounder with Albright and Sallee. Balimer was pale as he grabbed a cannonball in each arm and raced for the river as fast as forty-eight extra pounds would allow, and Corry was almost giddy as he followed the example.

About halfway down the hill, Jerry and Joe let the cannon go, and it headed for the water seemingly under it's own power.

The sound of shuttlecraft engines in low atmosphere flying mode became evident.

Albright summed it up for all of them as he ran back and grabbed another two of the cannonballs, struggling with the weight. "Shitshitshitshitshit!"

"Ohmigodohmigodohmigod," was Corry's chosen litany, as he ran back for more ammo. They only had another two left after that, but the sound of those engines had worked them into a frenzy.

Scott grabbed those last two, sliding on the wet grass. It wasn't good luck he was having that day; the momentum, the slope and the added weight was enough to throw him completely off balance. In the back of his mind, he thought that he had just lost his righting arm and was going down, but that was cut off when he slammed down onto his back.

Well, it had been a good effort. He was just getting back to his feet, muddy, disheveled, holding two twenty-four pound cannonballs, when two security officers walked across from where the shuttle had landed right about where the gun had been on the top of the hill.

Needless to say, Scotty didn't particularly care to think about how this looked.

"We've received a report about..." The first officer, one of those square-jawed-built-like-a-brick-outhouse-and-eats-nails-for-dinner-types, said without preamble. However, upon observing this baby-faced, none too tall, filthy to the skin cadet, his voice trailed off.

"Report, sir?" Scott asked, eyebrows up in pure, undiluted innocence.

Blinking a few times, the man got his bearings. "...report about a noise disturbance in the area. What do you know about this?"

"It was me," Corry apologized, stepping up to his best friend's shoulder in an attempt to at least take part of the heat. "I had beans for lunch, sir."

The second officer, the one who looked rather like he would be the poor guy who ended up walking into a cave alone, phaser undrawn, to an untimely ending couldn't help but snicker. Afterall, he was only a year or two older than these cadets. "You're telling us that it was-"

"Yes, sir, I am." Corrigan nodded smartly, elbowing Scotty when he started choking on his own laughter.

Chief Eats Nails scowled. He didn't like being joked with. One didn't survive long in Starfleet Security by joking. He shot a look back at Albright, still in his uniform, who was red-faced himself after Corry's comments. "You're a cadet... are all of you?"

Joe just couldn't keep the quaver from his voice, about ready to fall over in helpless giggles. "Yes, sir, Engineering Division."

"And you?" The older man leveled an icy glare back at Scott, who probably couldn't have answered with a straight face even if he wanted to. "Name and rank."

Before he could stop himself, Scotty replied, "Montgomery Scott, Fourth Year Cadet an' man in charge o' ball bearings. The official ball bearer."

"It's a good post for him, sir. He loves playing with balls." Corry knew he'd get the Hell beat out of him for that one, but it was such a perfect setup that there just wasn't any resisting it. "And I think it's better than being a pall bearer... if you know what I mean, sir."

That was it. Albright fell over, laughing helplessly. Jansson and Balimer were literally crying. Sallee was gasping for air between violent giggles. And poor Scotty, who had already had a hard time trying to keep from just breaking down finally did, keeling over unceremoniously and laughing so hard he didn't make a sound.

Corry was the only one who fought back the temptation. "Really, sirs, we were just going for a nice walk in the countryside, and those beans caught up to me, and that was the end of it."

The five cadets and younger security officer just howled harder.

Chief Eats Nails growled. There wasn't much he could do... they didn't seem to be doing anything wrong, and if he stayed there, he'd lose any semblance of authority. "Clear out, and get back to your campus."

"Oh, yes sir, absolutely."

The older officer marched away. The younger one managed to wave to them, still laughing up a storm, and followed.

Not about to let his roommate get away with such an shameless play on words, Scott somehow found enough strength to lob one of the twenty-four pound cannonballs onto Corry's foot. It would probably be the only retribution he would get, but at least no one could say he took it without putting up a fight. Then, while Corry screamed so high that only dogs and Antarian bats could hear it, he just went right back to laughing.

One cannon, ammo and powder included, was a worthwhile sacrifice for that day.


	18. Part 3: Righting Arm: Chapter 6

_Chapter 6:_

_Wednesday, May 31st, 2243  
H&W Shipyards  
Team C Headquarters  
Belfast, Ireland, Earth_

The final week under the deadline was one of frantic energy. It passed in a blur - that was the only way to really describe it. The high energy, take no prisoners, final crunch blur that exists for anyone fighting time, fighting right to the last few moments to finish something they had already put so much into.

It didn't help that everyone had finals to worry about, as well as internship paperwork. Scotty hadn't even bothered to fill out his; he had basically taken up residence in the shipyards, one high-wired mass in motion. That last week was his last chance to beat the odds, and one could never accuse him of being anything less than confident that he would. He basically took his other finals without studying, just using his expertise to see him through the worst of it. This was the one that counted.

Tomorrow morning she would take to the water.

It seemed pretty far away, really. After an entire six and some odd months of his life that he'd put into the _Lady Grey_, tomorrow would be when she became what he had built her to be - a sailing ship. Looking back on that six months, he couldn't be sure of whether he'd always done the right thing, but he did know one thing beyond a doubt.

It had been worth it. Even through the fighting, the anger, the uncertainty, it had been worth it.

It was her last night in her cradle, and his last chance to see her from her bow for a very long time... maybe even forever. Tomorrow she would slide into Belfast Lough and he would be running around the below decks checking for leaks, testing the rigging, dropping and hauling up the anchor; in short, making sure she was ready to handle the real thing.

Tomorrow, she wouldn't be his anymore.

Starfleet owned the _Lady Grey_ on paper. Starfleet had fronted the bill for her and they legally had ownership over her. After the race, they could order her to be sold, or they could sign her over to one of the historical societies... they could even have her dismantled. He knew all of that.

That didn't change the fact that she was his ship. Starfleet might own her on paper, but he owned the _Lady Grey_ in every way that really mattered - or maybe she owned him. Honestly, he didn't know which it was, just that she was his ship and he was her builder and that was all there was to it.

Until tomorrow. Tomorrow she would officially be a schooner, created as a class final for a grade, and after the grading was over, she would be Corry's.

It was a lot easier to take it this time around. He stood there in the darkened slip, a few yards in front of her, and took in the sight. Her bowsprit angled sharp and long above his head, stays attached, staysails furled and ready. Her bow was sharp and her sides flared, a washed gray color; there was no visible trace of the gunports either on the outside of her hull, or the inside. In the end, he'd masked them with extremely thin planks, glued in place - they only had to hide the gunports until she was on the open sea anyway.

She didn't look like he had pictured, not with gunports and not gray instead of stained brown, but that was all right. She was beautiful anyway. Made for speed, made for the wind, made to fly.

It was hard not to be sentimental now, this close to the end. Scott smiled a half-smile to himself, stepping forwards and leaning on the wood much like he had before, when his world was falling down around his ears. This time, though, there wasn't any misery in the motion. He didn't need the _Lady Grey_ to hold him up... he could just take the moment of silence to really appreciate her.

Tomorrow, she would belong to someone else. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing though, that when it was all said and done, she would still own part of him. Life dictated that it couldn't last forever, and that a person's first love isn't usually their true love, but no one ever forgot the first.

And he would never forget her.

* * *

"Just do it, already!" Jansson was practically jumping up and down with pent up energy. From where he stood, there was absolutely no reason whatsoever to delay the christening of the ship, particularly because Barrett would be around in two hours to grade the project.

Corrigan frowned, holding the old bottle of Scotch in both hands, the bottle he'd used to bribe his roommate with months ago. Glancing at Scott, he said, "I still think you should do it."

"And I think ye'd better get crackin'," Scotty replied, with a grin. "Literally."

"If you don't, I will." Albright crossed his arms from where he stood on the fore deck, leaning on the port bulwark. "Can't send a ship out without christening her properly."

Corry looked around, but apparently this duty was going to fall on him. Wincing, he smashed the bottle over her bow, sending shards of glass and amber liquor every which way. "I hereby name thee _Lady Grey_."

The entire crew broke into wild applause. This was their payoff, and now there was nothing between them and the sea. They cheered their throats sore, and finally got down to the business of launching the officially named ship from her safe haven. The sliding ways had been greased down with artificial tallow, and all but a handful of the crew ran outside to take up the ropes they'd use to guide her to her dock.

Jansson had the privilege of setting the ship into motion, clicking the switch in the front of the slip that worked the gears. The ways engaged, carrying the _Lady Grey_ far enough to allow her own weight to carry her forwards.

It was an experience in itself to see that. Corry watched from where he was on the ropes... watched as she crept forwards a few inches, then a foot, then picked up speed. Her bow slid into the Lough smoothly; on either side, the water parted in an unbroken arc. If the sun had been out, there would have surely been a rainbow.

And in less than a minute, the _Lady Grey_ was afloat.

Silence reined for longer than that, a bubble that cut off the sounds of the teams on either side of their dock, cut off the industrial noise, cut off even the sound of the water washing lightly at her planked sides. Nothing else was respectful enough... each member of that team in their own thoughts, each reliving a moment they worked on her, each thinking of the section of wood they had helped lay.

It lasted for a small eternity before finally someone broke the reverie and started hauling on the port side ropes single-handedly. Eventually everyone gave in and helped out, but they didn't speak even then... only pulled in unison, bringing the _Lady Grey_ up to the massive fenders and tying the lines off to the cleats.

Corrigan was the first to actually speak, though when he did, it wasn't in anything more than a whisper, "Jesus..."

It was enough to break the spell, though, and before long the entire dock was all noise; excited chatter, reverent whispers, stunned proclamations. Corry still wasn't quite able to get his voice above that quiet tone, not quite able to get over the indescribable feeling of seeing the ship that had once only been lines on paper now wood on the water.

Scotty was actually a lot more vocal; not cheering, whispering or proclaiming, just speaking in a calm, certain voice, "Should get aboard and sound the hull."

Corry nodded, pretty much forcing himself away from the cacophony of thought. "Yeah. Shouldn't be any problems, though."

"Better safe than sorry." Gesturing for a few people to help with the gangplank, Scott helped them guide it up and against the ship's side. Then, taking a deep breath, he climbed up and onboard.

Albright jogged over, his shoes making an almost knocking sound on the decking. "I've already been around the fo'c'sle... there are a few small drips here and there, but that's supposedly normal."

"Nothin' too serious, so long as we don't spring a real leak." Starting off for the stairs to the below decks, Scotty was a little startled when Corry grabbed him by the arm and hauled him back. "What the-?"

"Take a look," Corrigan said, softly, pointing down the way.

O'Sullivan stood on the end of Team B's dock, his arms crossed as he watched the _Lady Grey_ and her crew. And on the side of Sean Kelley's ship, the steel square-rigger, was a name in red.

_Queen Mary_.

"Well, _that's_ subtle." Scotty's voice was a mixture of amusement and ire. "Ye think they're tryin' to tell us somethin', Cor?"

"Noooo, I think it's perfectly innocent." Corrigan smirked, likewise unsure of whether he should be angry about it or amused by it. The fate of Lady Jane Grey had been sealed by Queen Mary I... at the end of a chopping block. "But nonetheless, history's not gonna repeat itself this time."

"Well, the real Lady Grey didn't have the benefit of-"

"-a determined crew, a damned good architect, and all sorts of other happy things," Corry interrupted, not wanting to bring the cannons up for fear of spies. But there was a twinkle in his eyes that was just downright wicked. "Now let's go make sure she's ready for it."

* * *

Commander Richard Barrett stepped onboard the _Lady Grey_ two and a half hours later to no small amount of decorum. Lined on either side of the ship on her maindeck was the entirety of Team C. The cadets who had started, the people who had volunteered, the people who had probably been bribed... every one of them stood at parade rest, eyes forward.

Albright piped on an old bosun's whistle, the second piping of the traditional trill that signaled a high-ranking officer coming aboard. The pipe's effect was instantaneous (more because they'd spent fifteen of their precious minutes practicing than anything else) and the entire assembled crew snapped to attention.

Barrett smiled. It was hard not to, seeing how snappily they'd responded. And it was somehow very appropriate to him that Albright used an old pipe rather than the new electronic ones Starfleet preferred. "Permission to come aboard, Mister Corrigan?"

Corry stepped forward from where he and his design team were, face set in uncompromising lines. "Permission granted and welcome aboard, Commander."

"Thank you, Ensign," Barrett replied, slipping easily into the formality of the moment. Holding his electronic clipboard in one hand, he glanced up and down the length of the deck. "Are you prepared for your tour of inspection?"

"Yes, sir, we are."

"Then lead on."

"Aye aye, sir!" Turning, Corry barked at his crew, "Dis_missed_!"

* * *

A fine-toothed comb would have been an understatement. Barrett went all the way from the forepeak to the rudder, noting everything. The design team nearly passed out from holding their collective breaths while he walked the belowdecks, just waiting for him to discover the hidden gunports. They hadn't even risked putting the rings in for the breaching ropes, let alone actually having the cannons onboard, but as closely as Barrett was looking at everything, it was still nervewracking.

It was somewhere around there that he turned to look back at the cadets who were tailing his heels. "Why a gray wash on the hull?" he asked, then went back to looking around.

"It's her warpaint," Scott supplied, helpfully, and got a firm elbow in the ribs for it. He gave Corry a look, but immediately stopped when Barrett looked back again. "Well, it is a race, sir... ye don't really want everyone knowin' exactly where ye are, right?"

Barrett raised an eyebrow. "All the vessels are going to have transponders and communicators, per maritime law. Visual camouflage won't make much of a difference, will it?"

"Maybe not. But still, ye have to admit sir, she looks fine."

"She does look fine. Though, honestly, I will have to take points off for the modern tools used to build her." Barrett frowned, shaking his head. "I wish I didn't have to, but even working to repair the sabotage damage, you could have kept to more traditional tools. Even if you wouldn't have finished her, I would have been glad to grade what you had already done."

Albright spoke up this time, "We understand that, sir. The design team's willing to take responsibility for that, and if you could have it reflect on our grades instead of the whole teams, I think it would be appropriate."

"I'll think on that, but I doubt I'll change the policy." Barrett shook his head, making no effort to hide his unhappiness at the prospect. "This was a whole team project, afterall."

"Yes, sir," the four cadets mumbled, in near unison. Everyone on the team was dedicated to the cause, but if they could have taken the brunt of it, it would have been better for everyone. Still, there was no turning back now.

"Let's continue," the professor said, turning to start his walk forwards. He never looked twice at the inner hull of the schooner, where the ports were hidden.

Corry and Scotty exchanged a brief, relieved glance - so far, so good - and fell in behind.

* * *

They had assembled again after the inspection, all of Team C. Barrett paced the deck for a few moments, tallying up the scores on the clipboard he carried with a few taps on the tiny keyboard.

The tension in the air was more than a little apparent, and there wasn't a cadet aboard who was in this for a grade that wasn't worried about failing.

It was sad that even after all they had gone through, they were in danger of that fate. The commander took a deep breath, reading off the scores and double-checking, then triple-checking them to make sure. Looking up at the crew, his voice was somber as he passed the verdict... after six and a half months of work, it came to an hour and a half appraisal. "Due to the fact that modern tools were used to finish construction on the ship, and due to the fact that the sails, brassworks and a few of the mechanisms weren't created by this team, I've had to carefully evaluate this vessel and the workmanship. I've come to the conclusion that the design could not be faulted, and that the actual workmanship could not."

Noting that they looked a little more at ease with that, he continued, "I also took into account the sabotage and the attack on your head architect. These did factor into your grade. I didn't hold your going over budget against you, seeing as how you had to reorder the wood burned in the fire, and that factors in as well.

"I want to say something before I tell you what grade you've got." Barrett's tone softened, though he didn't change the volume of his voice. "It's not easy to come back against the odds you were facing, cadets. All of you have shown yourselves to be of the finest fabric Starfleet has... the kind that doesn't run away in the adversity of a situation, but keeps on fighting through it.

"I would like you to know that if I were grading this project on those qualities, you would all get one hundred percent. I've had the honor of teaching some very fine cadets in my day... and I'm very honored to have had you in my last class. I want you to remember that."

He took a deep breath, looking at each and every one of his students for the briefest of moments, long enough to let them each see personally just how much he meant those words and just how much he regretted this. "Team C, of the gaff-rigged schooner _Lady Grey_, you have received a seventy-two percent."

To their credit, they took it well. A few of them broke formation to look at their feet and Corry reprimanded them quietly. Most of them, though, held their heads up and refused to allow it to be known just how much that would hurt their grade point average.

Out of all of them, Scott had the most to lose. He had managed to hold onto his ranking as the first in the class only by the skin of his teeth, but this would knock him out of that spot and likely allow Kelley to take it over again, and maybe even a few others. But out of all of them, he took it the best... jaw set, eyes lit with determination, not even a hint of despair in his stance. The biggest pause he had, after Barrett's speech, was that he was about to soundly disappoint the professor's fine thoughts of them; of him.

But he was in for the fight, now.

Barrett handed the official printout to Corry, and Albright piped the bosun's whistle as the professor turned and walked off of the ship. That left them to absorb what had been said, and eventually Corrigan looked back up from the paper. "Dismissed."

Most of the cadets meandered over to see it for themselves, and the handful of others went back to discussing points of the ship. To say that it was completely miserable would have been a lie, because most of them had realized a long time ago that their grade certainly wouldn't be perfect. To actually see it in print, though, was disheartening enough that it was very quiet on the _Lady Grey's_ decks.

* * *

The day had worn long for Andrew Corrigan. From 0630 when they had headed to the shipyards to launch the _Lady Grey_, to 1200 when they had been graded, to 1600 when he had finished his final paperwork for Starfleet Engineering Academy and officially re-requested his transfer to Starfleet Medical, to a rushed supper in the cafeteria and some errands, and now back to the docks again.

It was getting late, and now that classes were over for the year, he didn't have to be back for curfew. In August he would probably be in medschool while everyone else was getting their full commissions and starting internship. After the race he was going to go back home; when the next school year started the week before July, he'd have to vacate his dormroom, and that left him a month and a half to spend with family.

But he didn't want to go back to the dorms, so he went back to the ship instead. Climbing the gangplank, he took a few minutes to appreciate the complete quiet of the dock, and of the schooner. It was hard to believe he could remember when there was nothing to her but the start of a keel, and now he was standing onboard the real thing. The _Lady Grey_.

It was hard to feel unhappy about the grade while he stood on the finished product.

The ship was dark. Normally her lanterns would be lit, but since she sat at dock there wasn't really a need to. There were lights on across the street, but they did little to break up the blackness onboard. Above, the sky was clearing; clouds moved lazily, and the stars that could be seen were all the brighter for it. The moon was near full, and when it glinted on the _Grey's_ decking, she seemed to be almost blue.

"Nice night."

Corry didn't even startle, though he hadn't really had more than a sneaking suspicion that his roommate was onboard. Turning, he glanced back at Scotty before looking at the sky and replying, "Yeah... almost like a dream."

Scott didn't say anything else, just let the companionable silence fall. It really was a fine night; warm for Belfast, which didn't have a very large temperature variation to begin with. The fact that it wasn't raining did a lot for that notion, and so did the break in the clouds.

"Finish your paperwork in time?" Corrigan asked, after awhile.

"Aye. Finished it by 1400. And Pearson seemed to think my final for his class was somethin' I actually took time on." Scott shrugged, one shouldered, and edged back to lean on the bulwark. He had turned in the first three stages of a starship design, and had received all sorts of praise - it wouldn't have been wise if he had admitted to the reincarnated Captain Ahab that he'd just used one of his pet projects from well over a year ago. "Figured I'd come back here and keep watch for any rampagin' parties."

Corry chuckled, going back himself to lean next to his roommate. "Good idea. They already made it clear that they're still holding a grudge."

"Have a bigger one to hold when we're finished."

"That they will. And I, for one, can't wait." Corrigan chuckled, wryly, "Of course, I might not be so thrilled when my career ends in a court martial, but eh."

Scott nodded, in a quieter mood than normal. "Well, worse comes to worst, we end up livin' out our lives as civilians."

"Awfully nonchalant, coming from you..." Corry raised an eyebrow, looking over at his best friend. "You all right?"

Scotty raised both, an amused grin crossing his face. "Aye, I'm fine. Just too tired to worry myself stupid over somethin' that can't be changed." Shaking his head, he looked back up at the sky. "She's a good ship - worth fightin' for."

"Yeah." Looking back up as well, Corry said, quietly, "I'm glad you kept fighting for her, too... I don't think there're very many people who would have."

"Why?"

"Because I look at them, and they see the final as a grade and a chance to be mildly famous. Then there's this team, and you in particular, who doesn't care about the grade but about the ship." Smiling slightly, Corrigan took a deep breath of the salt-tinged air. "She's your ship, chief."

"My ship..." Scotty shook his head again, still watching the stars. Either because he was tired or because he wasn't the best speaker, it took him a few moments to come up with the right words. "She was mine, y'know. From the first time I stopped givin' a damn about this, that or th' other, and started carin' about what would happen to her, and what would happen t' you. And she was mine up until this afternoon."

Pushing himself up with both hands and finally looking back at Corry, he said, "She's yer ship now, Mr. Corrigan. I couldna think of a better man for her." And with that, he headed down the deck.

Corry blinked a few times, resisting the first impulse of chasing down his roomie and protesting. That would only lead to unhappiness, afterall - Scott was touchy when it came to pride, and it was pride that made him give up the _Lady Grey_. He had built her for someone else, and even though the circumstances had changed, that was one thing he wouldn't back down on.

The schooner glowed in the light of the moon, soft blues and grays. Her sails looked almost ethereal, bright even though they were furled.

Corrigan sat quietly on the bulwark, listening to the sound of the water, and after a time accepted the gesture with the grace it was due. In that moment, he was more grateful than words could express that he'd taken pity on the harassed, hyperactive, stuttering ensign who had turned out to be the best friend he could ever have.


	19. Part 4: Zero Moment: Chapter 1

**Part 4: Zero Moment**

* * *

Then spoke the thunder  
D A  
_Datta:_ what have we given?  
My friend, blood shaking my heart  
The awful daring of a moment's surrender  
Which an age of prudence can never retract  
By this, and this only, we have existed  
Which is not to be found in our obituaries  
Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider  
Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor  
In our empty rooms

-**T.S. Eliot**; The Waste Land

* * *

_Chapter 1:_

_Tuesday, June 4th, 2243  
The _Lady Grey_  
Belfast Lough  
Belfast, Ireland, Earth_

"Come get your duds in order, 'cause we're bound across the water...!" Corry's warm tenor voice cut across the waters of Belfast Lough as he sang. Typically it was a sea shanty, traditional to working onboard, but the entire crew of the _Lady Grey_ was on the port side railing, singing for the crew of the _Queen Mary_.

"Heave away, me jollies, heave away!" Team C answered, in not perfect but intelligible unison.

"Come get your duds in order, 'cause we're bound to leave tomorrow...!"

"Heave away, me jolly boys, we're all bound away!"

Of course, the _Queen Mary's_ crew did their best to ignore the entire affair. It wasn't easy to ignore that many people singing at the tops of their lungs, but they were trying pretty damn hard to do so. A few of them looked over, and Sean Kelley stood on his quarter deck in cadet dress uniform, snorting in disgust, but that was all of the reaction that Team B would give.

Corrigan had specifically taught this shanty to Team C, mostly for one verse. It was a bit of a hint to Maggie, but then, they were on the starting line of the race and a bit of foreshadowing now couldn't hurt at all.

But right now, Scotty was busy on the refrain. He could sing himself, something that he only engaged in on occasion, but his voice carried just as well. "Sometimes we're bound for Liverpool, sometimes we're bound for Spain...!"

"Heave away, me jollies, heave away!"

"But now we're bound for old Saint Johns, where all the girls're dancin'...!"

"Heave away, me jolly boys, we're all bound away!"

Corry grinned, taking that beat to wave frantically in Maggie's direction. She didn't look up then, but when he launched into the next line she did... "So it's farewell Maggie darling, 'cause now I'm gonna leave...!"

"Heave away, me jollies, heave away!"

Maggie looked suitably flattered.

Corry grinned. "You promised you'd be true to me, but how you did deceive me...!"

Maggie no longer looked flattered. If anything, she looked like a shadow had just crossed her face... and that did catch the attention of a few select cadets on Team B.

"Heave away, me jolly boys, we're all bound away!"

Team C looked about ready to just fall over laughing. If the race excitement wasn't enough, and the realization that in about twenty minutes they would be going to sea for two weeks wasn't, teasing the other team was.

Corry wasn't finished yet. He had spent about an hour the night before looking up ways to make them squirm onboard the _Queen Mary_, and had searched through what seemed like pages and pages of song titles from the Starfleet database. He found an appropriate one, buried deep in the archives; more odd than that, he'd found it in the Vulcan library tapes that had been donated to Starfleet. He had no idea how that happened.

But still. He spun back towards the other ship, focusing on Maggie and wailing it for all it was worth...

"Shot through the heart, and you're to blame...!"

And just as rehearsed and wicked as before, the rest of the _Lady Grey's_ troops jumped in, "Darlin', you give love a bad name!"

"I play my part and you play your games...!"

"You give love a bad name!"

Even twenty yards away, Maggie's look of horror was unmistakable. Corry just reveled in it, and he didn't fail to take notice of her running up to the quarterdeck to speak to the immaculately turned out Kelley. Not more than ten seconds later, Scotty's communicator beeped. "Aye, Sean?"

Sean sounded downright pissed off as he answered, _"Pipe down over there! You have Maggie crying, and dammit, the race hasn't even started!"_

Scott smirked, devilishly, glad that Kelley couldn't see him where he was back with the rest of the crew. "Did we? Give the lass our sincere apologies."

_"Sincere, right."_

Corry meandered over, leaning over his roommate's shoulder. "Hey, Sean."

_"Corry! Dammit, what're you trying to do? Wage psychological warfare on my crew or something with that screeching voice?"_

"We're just having some fun," Corrigan replied, a very study in nonchalance. "We'll quit."

_"...well, good."_

Scotty shook his head. He knew Sean just wasn't going to be expecting what was in store for the _Queen Mary_, and in that sense he felt bad. Kelley wasn't a bad person, just desperately petty on occasion, and he really didn't deserve near the grief certain members of his crew did. "About the race..."

_"What about it?"_ the irritated cadet asked.

"No hard feelings, all right?"

Kelley took a moment to reply, but when he did, it was even more obvious that he didn't have a clue. Arrogance seeped into his every word. _"'Course not. Good luck, _Lady Grey_."_

"Same to you," Corry said. After Scotty closed the communicator, he added, "You're gonna need it."

* * *

"And we're back! If you're just joining us this fine day, welcome to the exclusive coverage of the Starfleet Engineering Academy's tall ships race, brought to you exclusively by TNN... the Terran News Network. Standing here with me is the visionary behind this event, Professor Richard Barrett, Commander in Starfleet and the head of the history department here at the Academy." Chip Wagner's teeth were pure white, his brown hair was brilliantly combed and highlighted, his tan was the perfect shade, and his voice had all of the smoothness of fine silk. He was the shit. "Tell me, Professor Barrett, where did you get this unique idea?"

Barrett clasped his hands behind his back. Behind him, the crew of the _Grey_ was hanging over the side of their ship, waving and trying to get on camera. Off to the right, just in view, the _Queen Mary's_ crew was doing the same. "Well, this is my last year here at the Academy, and since I've decided to retire, I wanted to 'go out with a bang' as it were."

"Wonderful." Chip flashed a smile and the camera man had to turn down the gain on his camera so as not to blind the audience. "Now you say that every cadet in your senior class spent half of the year working on these ships?"

Barrett nodded. "They did. I'm very proud of the effort they've put forth."

"But why sailing ships? These engineering cadets will be out in space onboard Starfleet's finest vessels... why not have them work on something more modern?" Now Wagner was playing the serious, interested reporter.

"I _am_ a history professor," Barrett pointed out, ignoring the shouts of 'Mom!' and 'Dad!' behind him on the two remaining ships in harbor. "Most of the cadets have very little insight into the foundations that Starfleet was built on... that of the world's Navies. To give them a better appreciation for the labor that went into building a fleet of ships, I gave them a single vessel and a budget to work with, as well as a material. I believe they have a better understanding of the pure hard work that our history originated from."

"True, true." Chip turned and looked at the ships in a manner that screamed 'trying too hard to care'. "These last two ships, why are they being held back?"

"Handicap for the race." Barrett looked as well, smiling a half-smile at the waiting vessels. "These are the two largest ships, and they're rated the fastest. In order to be more fair to the other racers, we've held them back."

"What can you tell us about them?"

"Well, that vessel over there," Barrett said, pointing to the _Queen Mary_, "is the _Queen Mary_, under the command of senior cadet Sean Kelley. She's a steel ship, a square-rigger... called that because most of her sails are rectangular in shape. Her length is at one hundred and eight feet overall, and her beam is at twenty-six feet. She's the official ship of Team B." The camera panned elegantly over the ship as she sat in harbor, waiting to start her race.

Chip nodded seriously, shifting his stance so his back was to the camera. "And the other?"

Barrett smiled. "The schooner _Lady Grey_, captained by Andrew Corrigan, likewise a senior cadet. She's had somewhat of a rough time, but her crew's turned her into quite a vessel. She's mostly made of oak, one hundred and fifty-seven feet sparred length, and twenty-six feet at her beam... she's fore and aft rigged, see the difference? All of her sails are lined along her centerline, while the _Queen Mary's_ are across the beam."

"Both fine ships," Chip Wagner commented, passing by the historical allusion without realizing it. He flashed another smile back at the camera, once again almost blinding people. "Now that you have the basics, we're going to check in with the Belfast Harbor Master, who's counting down the last few moments until these ships are given the go. Andrea, over to you."

Andrea Whiting smiled at her camera, trying to stand onboard the small power cutter sitting between the tugs that would pull the _Lady Grey_ and the _Queen Mary_ out of the Lough. Her voice sounded more like syrup that anything, and not the really prime stuff... the sickly sweet stuff. "Thank you, Chippy. Here we have the master of the harbor, Gregory Jackson. Mr. Jackson, how much time do we have left?"

"Don't bother me, woman, I'm busy, cancha see?"

Not put off, Andrea smiled even sweeter. "How do you think the race will turn out?"

Sigh. A beat, and the grizzled old sailor looked back at her. "I think yew better shut up an' let me pay attention to the- dammit!" Grabbing the pull cord on the horn, he gave it three sharp bursts.

"And there we have it! The racers are officially given the go!" Andrea giggled and bounced up and down. "Back to you, Chippy."

'Chippy' pulled his tongue back into his mouth, but not quickly enough to miss being caught on camera. Barrett was completely ignoring him as he watched the tugs pull the last two ships out of harbor to the elated cries of their respective crews.

Clearing his throat and turning red under his immaculate tan, Chip concluded, "We'll be checking in on this race over the next two weeks. Tune in for a special at 2100 GMT for more information! This is Chip Wagner for TNN, signing off."

* * *

Getting the cannons onboard the _Lady Grey_ had been difficult at best. Not only were twenty-four guns, plus ammo, powder and accessories hard to hide in the first place (thank God for storage rental), but getting them from the storage building to the ship without being spotted took some clever thinking.

And some very smooth transporter operation.

Scotty grinned as he paced the gundeck, stopping every once in a while to make sure the twenty-four pounders weren't going to come loose and knock a hole in the schooner. It had been his quick calculating and even quicker hands that had allowed the cannons to be transported onboard. No easy feat... the design team had managed to commandeer the cargo transport platform on campus as a supposed experiment, relieved the volunteer cadet on duty, and then rolled the guns in at three in the morning.

Six at a time, the transporter tied into the satcom sensors, fine tuned to constantly check even the slightest movement of the ship, and he had transported those cannons onboard. By the time 0600 rolled around and the last four eighteen pound deck guns were stowed in the cargo hold, he was so worn out from the fine adjustments that taking a nap down in the fo'c'sle had been a requirement.

But now, into the evening, sleep was pretty far from his mind. It probably had to do with the fact that the _Lady Grey_ was on her way out into the ocean, and she was moving under his feet in a motion he still wasn't used to, even after a few days of sail training in the Irish Sea where he'd been absolutely bombarded with a new set of skills. They hadn't even rounded Ireland yet... if this was typical of life onboard, then he would have a Hell of a time when they were into the Atlantic proper and facing more serious wave action.

"...hull speed. We'll have to really make some time if we're going to catch up to her after we round the marker."

Albright's voice disturbed Scott away from his thoughts, and he stopped pacing the gundeck long enough to look back and ask, "What're ye plannin'?"

Jansson frowned briefly, stepping down the way. "We're trying to make an educated guess at the _Queen Mary's_ speed and our own. Trying to guess where we'll catch up to 'em, mostly."

"I think we'll end up catching them well into our return trip. She's got the advantage over us while she's going with the wind, but not against it." Joe crossed his arms, leaning on one of his guns. "We're already catching the _Barely Afloat_, and the _Queen Mary's_ falling further behind us."

"_Barely Afloat._" Scott couldn't resist a snicker at that. Team F's ship was more of a boat - fiberglass - and, well, barely afloat. Her crew had all been terrific, though, genuinely nice lads and lasses. "How far's the _Queen Mary_?"

"Two miles. She'll never catch us, not how well we're tacking right now. Wind's out of the southwest, and Corry's got us moving really really good." Jerry grinned, brightly. "You trying to hide down here? We could always use a lookout up on the mast, you know."

Scotty shook his head, crossing his arms. "I can barely stand on deck, nevermind the climb up there."

"I think you're just a chicken," Corry said, bounding down the steps and joining the little group. He smiled, so downright happy that it was hard not to smile back just because. "It's not that bad. Hell, I'd even go with you."

They couldn't be serious about this. Scott's eyebrows went up and he tried to keep the uneasiness he felt suddenly from showing. "I think I'll pass on this one."

"You were up there when she was in the slip. What's the difference?"

"She's movin', that's the difference!"

"It's a great view. Just like flying."

Scotty took an involuntary step backwards, running into one of the cannons. This little joke was starting to go too far. "No, I'm stayin' down here. I dinna need t' end up a splatter on deck."

* * *

"C'mon, you're halfway there." Corry was actually being encouraging. It was odd, since most of the time he would be teasing his best friend, instead of trying to keep him from being completely terrified. "Just one line at a time."

The ropes were moving, the ship was moving, everything was moving except Scott. He was too busy clinging to the ratlines to move; eyes squeezed closed, knuckles white, breath coming in shaky gasps. He wasn't afraid of heights, not in the least - hang gliding was far more dangerous and a whole lot higher. But the constant motion and the way the ropes felt so unsteady happened to be too much for him. Nevermind the seasickness, that just topped off the misery. "Bastard."

"I know," Corrigan said, balancing easily beside his fear-frozen roomie. He decided it'd be better not to mention to Scotty that everyone who wasn't working below was watching; might end up making him even more nervous. "Now look, you helped run these lines yourself. They're not going to give on you. Just don't look down, pick your foot up, and take another step."

Well, it was up or down at this point, and since down was even more nerve-wracking, Scott chose up. Still gripping onto the shrouds with the strength of desperation, he pulled himself up to the next foot rope.

Corry followed, being as careful as he could not to jostle the lines any worse than usual. "See? Now we're over halfway."

"Never again."

"Eh, you say that now, but I think you'll be fine when you get there."

Scotty whimpered and went up another rung. "Makin' me more seasick, that's all this is doin'."

Corrigan chuckled, "This is a nice, calm day. It could be a lot worse."

"Shut up." Another rung, another pause, another grapple with visions of death and chaos.

It went on like that, as the lines got closer together and Corry had to abandon his roommate to climb ahead. To Scotty's credit, he didn't panic when left to fend for himself; by then, it was a little easier to climb and forget about the ocean, deck and people below. When he finally made it up onto the small platform high on the mainmast, he was trembling and green in the face, but still alive and in one piece.

Corry leaned back against the mast on one side, bracing himself by holding onto the edges of the platform. The tops of the masts moved a lot more than the deck below, and the last thing he wanted was to be pitched over the side. "You look kinda like a Vulcan, what with that complexion."

"Hnn," Scott answered, dazedly, grabbing onto the mast and clinging to it like he had the ropes. Getting down from there didn't even cross his mind - if it had, he might have started sobbing.

Corry didn't comment. Better to let the other cadet work it out... now that he was up there, he'd be all right. Might just take a little time.

The sun was nice and bright, and aside for a few traces of high clouds, it was clear. Almost like the powers that be wanted to prove they really were under way, leaving behind the rainy and overcast demeanor of Belfast. It wasn't hard to imagine what it would have felt like for the sailors who used to do this all of the time... the world looked a whole lot bigger from onboard a ship at sea, then it did orbiting above.

Off of their stern, only visible now by the tiny white spots of her sails, the _Queen Mary_ sailed. Closer aft was the _Barely Afloat_, having saluted Team C when they passed with honest good nature. And ahead, somewhere, were the rest of the ships in the race. They had a Hell of a head start, but Corry knew that the _Lady Grey_ would catch up. Even if she was disqualified, she would be in the lead when she was.

The sails billowed in the wind, and he had no trouble sitting comfortably even at her angle of heel. This was his heritage, afterall... salt water and waves. Onboard his own schooner.

Smiling a proud half-smile, Corry tossed a glance at Scott, who was still clinging to the mast. He didn't look quite so frantic now; not so green around the gills, even though he still hadn't dared to open his eyes and take a look out from his perch. Corry kept his tone down, hoping not to startle the other cadet. "Getting any better?"

Scott nodded, not trusting himself to give a verbal answer. After a moment or two, he chanced a look out over the water.

There, that wasn't so bad. Taking a deep breath, Scotty fixed his gaze on the horizon, a trace of a smile crossing his face as he spotted the _Queen Mary_. "Back there aways, isn't she?"

"Yep. She'll have the advantage whenever the wind's on her stern, but she can't take going against it like we can." Corry grinned, relaxing a little now that he didn't have to worry about his best friend panicking up there. "I told you it was a nice view."

"Hm," was Scott's noncommittal response. But he gradually let go of the mast and braced himself like Corry, looking over the bow of the ship.

It was blue on blue for eternity.

"Plan on staying up here for sunset? I don't think anyone'd mind our absence."

"Depends on whether I care to try climbin' down in the dark."

"Sun doesn't set for another hour."

"I'll think on it."

Scott did think on it, but only in the back of his mind. He was more interested right then in the way the wind danced in the sails ahead of him on the foremast, and the way that the light of the sun caught on the canvas. The motion of the schooner didn't seem so jarring... the sounds of the crew working below were distant. There was a good, stiff breeze, and that was really the only thing up there with the two cadets.

Nothing but the wind.

Scott could have said he had plenty of experience with wind, because hang gliding depended on it in some way or another, but on the mainmast of the _Lady Grey_ it was more tangible. Like he could catch it, and in a sense, that was exactly what the ship was doing.

So he moved with her, rocked with the motion of the ship, losing some of the queasiness so long as he kept his eyes on the horizon. Like a fixed part of the rigging, he swayed, listening to the sound of the sails, the sound of the water far below, the wind, the ropes as they creaked.

The breeze softened with the coming of night, so subtly that neither Corry nor Scotty really thought about it. They noticed it on a more primitive level, lost in their own thoughts or lack of thoughts, not giving it conscious effort. The _Queen Mary_ didn't exist, nothing existed but them, the schooner and the reddening sunset. It lasted an eternity and went far too quickly, breathtaking out there where there wasn't a single soul. The slow decent of the sun, the way it grew and turned to fire red as it fell, the light flaring on the wispy clouds in orange and gold.

Caught in a perfect moment of life, as the sun vanished from the sky, the two cadets on the mast forgot to breathe.


	20. Part 4: Zero Moment: Chapter 2

_Chapter 2:_

_Wednesday, June 5th, 2243  
The _Lady Grey_  
On the North Atlantic_

_*ding-ding*_

The ship's bell rang clearly, and even through the deck it was still easy to hear.

_*ding-ding*_

The bell was made of brass, not too large, not too small. Mounted on the quarterdeck, it's sound could reach the crew almost anywhere, and if anyone happened to be sleeping under the quarterdeck, it was far too close to be ignored.

_*ding-ding*_

Scotty regretted having the bell cast already.

_*ding*_

Seven bells. His half-sleeping brain managed to calculate what time it was - 0330. Half-past three in the bloody morning. He was due on watch in a half-hour, and the sun wasn't even up yet. It made him wish that he was back in class, back where there was a set schedule that didn't alternate every day like the watches would on the _Lady Grey_.

Corry had set the schedule yesterday, and unlike the traditional days of sail, set it up so there were three watch crews rather than two. That was a kindness - not being able to sleep more than four hours at a time would have made the trip insufferable quickly. There was nothing quite like a troop of tired, mostly untrained cadets trying to fit into the harsher life onboard a ship at sea to begin with. To actually have to stay completely in tradition would have been unbearable.

Not that Scott was thrilled. The bell was struck every half-hour, signaling the time, and every single damn time it rang, it jarred him awake. Now, in a half an hour, he was going to have to go up there, try to be alert, and shiver in the predawn light. His only consolation right then was imagining what he was going to do with that idiotic bell when he made it back to land.

Dragging himself out of the bunk and staggering over to the carryon he hadn't bothered to unpack yet, he somehow found a set of warmer civvy clothes, before remembering to light the oil lantern. Why he'd given into the idea to move back to the officers quarters was beyond him right then, when it had made perfect sense the night before. He was technically the first mate, right? The night before the idea of an actual bunk, a room of his own, and getting away from the fo'c'sle where the majority of the crew slept had been a sound one.

Now, having been kept up all night not only by the constant motion of the ship, but the nerve-wracking ship's bell, he thought that he could handle the snoring, grunting, groaning, and babbling that went on in the fo'c'sle, so long as he could get away from that incessant ringing.

Someone knocked on the door. Blinking once or twice, he eyed it like it was a completely unnatural thing. They knocked again, he blinked again, and finally managed to say, "C'min."

Harrison stepped in, looking wide-awake. He had been assigned the job of the ship's head cook... partly because he didn't seem to like the idea of working on deck, and partly because the design team of Team C still held a slight grudge. The day before, when he'd caught sight of the guns, he had tried to get off of the ship, no doubt the get word to the _Queen Mary_. Thankfully he'd been cut off at the pass, as it were; now all they had to do was keep the emergency communicators away from him. "Coffee, sir?"

Even halfway sleeping, Scotty smirked to himself. He knew that Harrison was probably going to try to either simper or sneak, but he was going to do something. "Aye, I could use it. Damn bell kept me up."

"I'll bet." Harrison set the thermos on the table, looking around. "These cabins are pretty small... and I thought the dorm rooms were bad."

"Better'n sleepin' on deck, at least." The bell would be even worse up there, no doubt. "How're ye handlin' it?"

"I like it." Harrison nodded, still looking around. "The galley's not bad, just kind of cramped... nestled between the guns and all, you know."

"We'll fix that, eventually," Scott said, going for nonchalant. He was just waiting for Harrison to come right out and ask what the guns were for, but if the other cadet hadn't figured it out yet, he had to be completely stupid. "Ye're on the middle watch, or just up early?"

"Just up early; couldn't sleep with the ship moving like it is." The double agent shrugged. "I'm sure I'll be tired enough tonight to sleep."

"Hope I am too," Scotty muttered, entertaining thoughts of taking the bell down and heaving it overboard. He wouldn't do it, but it was nice thinking about it. Finally pulling himself back to the real world, he offered a faint, tired grin. "Thanks for the coffee."

"No problem." Harrison took his cue and stepped out, closing the cabin door behind him.

Flopping down in a chair, Scott gave serious thought to crawling back into his bunk and trying to sleep again. What dissuaded him ended up being the realization that the bell would ring again in about twenty minutes, and he would have to be cleaned up, awake and out on deck. Technically he was Officer of the Watch... technically because he was the second highest 'ranking' cadet, but in all reality, it was just a title. Until he knew something about sailing, the experienced people were really in charge.

Hell. Shaking his head and trying to dissipate the fog, he staggered out of the room and went to get some water to wash up with. Never again would he take for granted the convenience of a nice, hot shower. Never again would he forget to appreciate being able to turn a knob or push a sensor strip and turn water on.

By the time eight bells rang, he was up and on deck, thermos clutched in both hands. The sky was starting to lighten, a slow gray color, and the breeze had picked up. Lewis was giving orders down on the main deck, and Scotty climbed up the steps to the quarterdeck, where Corrigan was at the wheel. "Mornin'."

"Morning!" Corry looked tired, no doubt because he had the middle watch, from midnight to four, but absurdly cheery despite it. "We're on the port tack, wind's out of the north northwest, we're heading southwest by south, nine points off."

"In English?" Scott asked, eyebrows drawn. He held his coffee closer, seeking some comfort in it.

"Um... we're going southish because the wind's out of the northish and making good time-ish." Grinning, Corry gestured one handed to the wheel. "Ship's yours, Mister Scott."

"Time-ish? And I'm not takin' the wheel... I don't know the first thing about steerin'!"

"It's easy. Hold it here until told otherwise by someone who knows how to sail."

"Easy, hm. Like climbin' the mast." Raising one eyebrow, Scott looked at the wheel doubtfully.

Corrigan sighed slightly, grabbing his roommate by the arm and dragging him over. "Take the wheel or I take the coffee."

Scotty frowned, taking the wheel with one hand and clutching the coffee with the other, possessively. It was blackmail, but who could he complain to on the high seas? "All right. But if somethin' goes wrong, don't say I didn't warn ye."

"You'll be fine. There're a few good sailors on this watch to keep things in line." Stepping back, Corry looked out over the stern towards where the sun would be coming up. "Okay, I'm gonna hit the rack. Need anything, just shout for me."

"Aye aye, Cap'n." Scotty grinned slightly. He might have saluted, if he didn't have his hands full. "Sleep well, Cor."

"Will do." Tossing a brief wave, Corrigan bounded down the steps and vanished.

All right, just hold it there until told otherwise. Scott could do that. It wasn't nearly as technical as building the ship had been, nor was it as hard to absorb as the sail training had been. For days he'd been bombarded with information on this and that, and now it was a relief to be told 'hold there until told otherwise'. It struck him as amusing that he could build a ship, but didn't have the faintest clue of how to actually sail that which he built.

Officer of the Watch... ha. Bracing the large wheel with his knee, he managed to get the top of the thermos unscrewed. Simple job or not, coffee was still a prerequisite. Piping hot, black, strong coffee.

* * *

Steering the _Lady Grey_ was probably one of the more mundane tasks onboard. Scott wasn't sure if it was typical of the Officer of the Watch to stand in as quartermaster, but then, it was a lot better than pretending like he actually knew how to sail. Lewis and Corry could take care of all of that... aside from having to correct the course a few times because she drifted with the wave action, being at the helm was a nice, easy job.

And a strangely enjoyable one as well. There was something nice about feeling the ride of the ship through her wheel, something about feeling, rather than seeing the sun come up and knowing that it was following them as they made for westward. He could have argued that he would be bored, but he wasn't. It took an hour to get readjusted to keeping his footing on the constantly moving deck, but at least the seasickness was pretty much gone, and after that he wasn't long in getting lost in it all over again just like he had aloft.

Scotty could almost get used to this sailing thing, if only he could learn to stand the bell and the fact that his bunk moved while he was trying to sleep.

But it looked to be a nice day, and that was a relief. It wasn't as clear as it had been the day before, but there was still ample sunlight to chase away the chill, and since they were heading sort of southish, it was bound to get a little warmer. Occasionally someone would come back to chat, or to just stand and enjoy the moment. Between that, steering and professionally daydreaming, it was certainly not boring.

Not quite a starship, but not bad at all.

Starship duty would consist of three shifts, eight hours apiece. Starships wouldn't move constantly... well, they would move, but those onboard wouldn't be able to tell, so long as the inertial dampers were actually tuned right. There would be no bell rung every half-hour, setting his teeth and making him cringe in anticipation, or shattering his sleep. All there would be in the way of constant noise would be the warp engines humming; humming through her superstructure, a much more easy lullaby.

But then, there would be no sunlight glinting off of the deck, no canvas to whisper or boom in the wind. There wouldn't be the comforting smell of wood, salt and sunshine. And there wouldn't be the subconscious realization that the world he was now in was the world where it all began... all of the dreams of exploration that were realized or shattered, all of mankind's need to see what was on the other side. He could honestly understand what Corry meant when he had said, so long ago, that he wished he could have been born five hundred years earlier.

If he did end up drummed out of Starfleet and denied the stars, Scotty was certain that the ocean, at least, would always be there.

Eight bells. Snapping back from his far-flung and almost philosophical notions, the cadet glared at the bell balefully, imagining how nice it would be to take a hand phaser and melt the damn thing into a molten pile of brass. It took him a minute and a tap on the shoulder to realize that his watch was up and it was time to relinquish the helm to Albright.

"Anything to report?" Joe asked, apparently not noticing the bellicide notions Scott was entertaining.

It took him a moment to recount the information, even if it still didn't make too much sense to him. "Port tack, wind's backed down to northwest, and we're seven points off, headin' south by southwest."

Albright nodded, seriously. And then, a good thirty seconds later, he asked, "In English?"

Scott grinned. "Wind's northish, we're headin' southish, and makin' good time-ish."

"Ahhh, I see." Joe grinned back, taking over the wheel. "Any special instructions?"

"Hold 'er steady until told otherwise."

"Sounds good to me."

"It is," Scotty said, and meant it, then headed down the steps to pace the maindeck a bit. He wasn't particularly tired, not now that he'd had his coffee and his watch was over, though after his next shift at 1600, the first dogwatch, he had every intention of going below and sleeping. Cabin or fo'c'sle, whatever struck his mood at the time... maybe the fo'c'sle, where the bell was a distant notion.

A few cadets meandered, most of them having been woken up only ten or fifteen minutes before. They were a ragged looking lot... scrubbed clean swiftly, half-shaved, rumpled civvy clothes and half-lidded stares were constants. It really was a somewhat harsh existence, compared to the almost easy schedule at the Academy.

_"Strike the bell, second mate, let us go below,  
"Look away to windward, you can see it's gonna blow,  
"Look at the glass, you can see that it has fell,  
"And we wish that you would hurry up and strike, strike the bell!"_

Jansson's voice was teasing as he sang, stumbling slightly on the deck and giving Albright a comedic salute from the maindeck. The fact that the watch had just begun only added to the amusement.

Scotty shook his head, calling over to Jerry, "He hits that bell, and I'm gonna pitch ye overboard."

"Keep you awake too?"

"Aye. I'm thinkin' it's closer to torture than timekeepin'."

"Yeah, I hear ya," Jansson walked over, leaning on the bulwark and looking down into the water. "I guess we'll have to get used to it, though, if we're going to be here for two weeks."

"Or we throw it over the side and say it was an accident." Scott shrugged, lightly. Now there was an idea that would get him through the rest of the day. He could think of a million excuses; the more outlandish, the more funny.

"I swear, sir, it was there one minute and gone the next," Jerry laughed.

"A giant squid came on deck an' ate it."

"Pirates boarded and stole it."

"The klingons transported it off."

"The rays of the sun reflected perfectly off of the compass, created a tight beam of heat, melted the bolts, and it crashed to the deck and rolled over the side." Jansson nodded, perfectly composed. "We tried to save it, but it was too late."

Scotty laughed. It was so against the laws of probability that it was almost believable. "I think the squid would be more likely."

"Nah."

"We could say a freak wave came and wiped it out."

"We could, but that's too easy. Needs to be something completely insane. I don't know, something like Poseidon came from the seas, looked at the bell and decided that he wanted it for his collection," Jansson said, standing straight again.

"He's welcome to it." Smirking, Scott amused himself with the thought. "Let him keep the fishes up or somethin', just so long as I don't hear it again."

* * *

_*ding-ding*_

Oh God...

_*ding-ding*_

_"Someone shoot the damn thing,"_ he thought, eyes still closed, not picking his head up from the piece of wood he was leaning on.

_*ding-ding*_

"I love that sound," a voice said.

Scotty frowned briefly, mostly asleep. He was leaning on the triangular board that reinforced the bulwark, that to his shoulder, the railing of the ship to his back. He didn't know if it bothered him that the board was speaking in a drowsy voice, but what it said didn't thrill him very much. "Sadist."

"Nu uh."

Corry's voice. So, either the board had learned how to speak, or Corrigan was on the other side. Rubbing at his eyes, he finally sat forward and looked around the edge. Sure enough, the other cadet had mirrored him. "I hate that thing. Everyone but you, an' the rest o' the sailors, hates that thing."

"You'll get used to it," Corry replied, not moving, eyes still closed. "You slept right through four and five, so it can't be bothering you too much."

"That's 'cause I didn't get to sleep all night." Going back to his makeshift bed, Scott closed his eyes again. It was surprisingly comfortable; the reinforcing brace kept him steady and gave him somewhere to lean his head, the bulwark supported his back, the ship's movement wasn't enough to throw him off... now the only thing disturbing him was the bell, and that wouldn't ring for another half-hour.

"The helm's a-lee!"

The shout re-woke both of the cadets up less than ten minutes later. Corry grinned slightly, finally sitting up. "We're switching tacks."

"That's nice," Scott answered in a mumble.

"C'mon, you should watch. Might teach you something." Getting to his feet, Corrigan stretched briefly in the sunlight, cracking his back in no less than seven places and making everyone within hearing distance wince. "See, the jibs and the fore staysails are all loose, and we're coming around... Scotty, wake up!"

"Corry..."

"Yeah?"

Scott gave him a brief, annoyed look, but evidently he figured that he was up and it would be pointless to continue. Crawling to his feet, he stumbled under the roll of the deck. "Ne'ermind."

The _Lady Grey's_ bow was into the wind, mostly carrying herself on momentum. The sails made an odd sound, unable to fill at that angle. But Lewis was well on top of the action, and when the time came shouted next to the crew of half-sailors, half-cadets, "Off tacks and sheets!"

The lines were thrown off, and they rushed back to the foremast from the main, nearly running over anyone in their path. The ship was in a position where she could be put in irons, unable to move because she was caught dead on the wind. But slowly, she overcame the force, and before long it was apparent that she would make it to the starboard tack.

"Foresail haul!"

It was actually interesting, watching the schooner respond to the commands. She was now one and a half points off of the wind, and the crew pulled the lines, bringing the sail on the foremast around to it's new position. Scott raised an eyebrow, making mental notes... it was amazing how well it actually worked in practice.

"Let go and haul!" Lewis yelled, as she settled slowly onto her new course. She was running close to the wind, and the wave action seemed far more jarring. More jerky and clumsy, even if the _Lady Grey_ was anything but.

"How long's it supposed to be like this?" Scotty asked, already disliking the change in movement.

Corry thought about it for a few moments, having no trouble whatsoever with his footing. "Probably about six or seven hours."

"Wonderful..." Shaking his head, Scott headed for the steps. Maybe he could go and find himself some crackers.

* * *

The first dogwatch was from four in the afternoon to six, a two hour watch used to alternate the schedule. It meant that every day one shift had a break and only had to stand watch for six hours instead of eight, but since everyone got a turn, it wasn't disputed.

Scotty, for one, was glad that his shift was short. When four bells were struck, he made for the galley, double-checked to make certain no one had sabotaged his food, and made a beeline for his cabin. By now he couldn't have cared less about the bells or the ship's rolling and heaving along the water; the only thing on his mind was sleeping until the middle watch at midnight.

"Want some company?" Corry asked, leaning around the edge of the door.

It didn't particularly surprise his roomie that he didn't bother knocking. Lord only knew, they'd been living in close quarters for over a year, putting up with each other's eccentricities and habits. "If ye don't plan on keepin' me up."

"Who, me? Never." Closing the door behind him, Corry flopped down across the table from Scott, grinning happily. "Just about done with our first real, genuine, official day as a ships crew."

"Mm hm."

"You sound incredibly enthusiastic."

"Just tired," Scotty said, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "Not lookin' forward to watch."

Corrigan shrugged, reaching over to steal a cracker. He narrowly avoided getting his hand smacked, and leaned back with his prize and an innocent expression. "It's only four hours, so it won't be too bad."

Scott eyed the cracker. "S'ppose not."

"We're making really good time." Corry nodded, munching on the stolen food with a slowness that screamed 'ha! I got away with it!'

Eh, it was only a cracker. One measly saltine, which had been a very big staple in Scotty's diet lately, what with the ship underway. "Good."

"Learn anything today?"

"Aye. Learned why Starfleet doesn't keep to tradition concernin' the bells."

Corry grinned, finishing the cracker and brushing the crumbs off of his hands. "You hate it that much?" he asked, reaching for another.

This time he wasn't quick enough. Like a cobra striking, Scott smacked his wrist, though he made no mention of it whatsoever. He just continued the conversation like it never happened, "Aye."

"Well, I'll be sure to strike the bell more softly if I'm on watch and you're down here." Corrigan stood, stretching his arms above his head. "And on that note, I'm gonna get back up there."

"Wake me at midnight?"

"Sure." Corry made for the door, then stepped back and grabbed a handful of the saltines before Scott could protest. "Sleep well." And with that, he walked out.

"Thief," Scott muttered, without any real annoyance in his voice. He had a stash secreted away in one of the galley cupboards now, so it wasn't a huge loss.

Shaking his head, he got to his feet and made the short trip to his bunk, just as seven bells rang. The brassy tone seemed almost in line with the rise and fall of the deck, choppy as it was, and though both were annoyances, they weren't quite enough. By the time eight bells rang, he was dead to the world.


	21. Part 4: Zero Moment: Chapter 3

_Chapter 3:_

_Saturday, June 10th, 2243  
The _Lady Grey_  
On the North Atlantic_

There was something to be said for the quiet of the ocean at night. Without the man made lights that dominated even some of the most serene places, the stars were at their brightest. Standing on the deck, it wasn't hard to imagine that every single one of them was visible, and even the half-moon didn't completely destroy the illusion.

Corrigan loved it. He loved standing on the deck, just aft the bowsprit, looking at the sky and imagining what it was like in the past... before starships, before space stations, when the ocean was the final frontier for people like him. The days of sail were long gone, though, when one could spend their whole life on the ocean, be it fishing or fighting or transporting cargo.

It made him sad to think about it. Some of his fondest memories were of summers in Maine, sailing with his father. Just the raw feeling of wind, of water, of sunlight - it was when he was most alive.

In a month or two, he would begin another four years at Starfleet's Medical in Maryland, provided he wasn't kicked out of the 'Fleet. Another four years of being planet-bound, able to just hop a shuttle and ride up the coast. Another four years that he could sail, and hopefully put aside the idea of going into space and leaving almost everything behind.

Corry wondered, in the back of his mind, if he would love the stars so much when he was actually there, or if they would just become something else to take for granted.

He did a lot of that, or he used to. He used to imagine that his parents would always be there, and his father's brush with death had shattered that illusion. He used to think he had found a tragic true love in Maggie Mersea, and that was ruined too. Hell, he'd even taken his best friend for granted, and both he and Scott had suffered for it.

Well, if the fates were trying to teach him a lesson, they'd succeeded. He certainly appreciated everything he had... more now than he ever had before.

In this case, the stars. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, imagining for a moment that this wasn't just a brief thing - imagining that this could go on forever, and he could somehow dream back the hands of time and progress. If only that was possible, he could truly point the bow into the horizon and sail forever.

"I'm goin' t'be up there someday," Scott said, rather quietly.

Corry opened his eyes and glanced over, not terribly surprised by Scotty's sudden appearance. "Yeah? And here I was hoping I could con you into going pirate and staying here."

Scott shook his head, eyes still tracking the stars. He wasn't entirely awake yet - still drowsy and only half-aware of the world around him. "Wouldna do much good here, but up there..."

"You could make it here." Corrigan nodded, not sure if he was joking or serious. "Imagine it... I'll be captain, you be my chief, and we can get some of the other guys to stay on. And we just sail."

"Aye, it's called AWOL."

"So? We'll build a sensor screen. They wouldn't be able to scan for us, and even with shuttles, it'd take 'em forever to find us. If we had sensors, we could see 'em coming a parsec away." To himself, Corry grinned. "Just picture it! Landing in some small port, somewhere that's not so modern, and then sailing off again like a ghost ship."

"Hijack ships," Scotty continued, obviously having not figured out that Corry was half-serious about this, "and steal all their crackers."

Corry chuckled, "Why not? There're enough yachts roaming around, and you can bet they'll be good for a raid. Before you know it, we have a whole fleet, and we can just ride the seas pirating."

"Make 'em walk the plank." Scott grinned himself, still somewhat infatuated with the idea. Afterall, he had been dreaming about making someone walk the plank since before they'd even really started the _Lady Grey_. "Come up alongside, open the ports, and scare the livin' Hell out of 'em."

"Basically," Corrigan said, with a sudden sort of solemnness. "I'm telling you, Scotty, it could work. We could really do it, you and me."

It must have dawned on Scott that Corry wasn't kidding. Blinking once or twice, he looked over at the other cadet, fairly alert now. "Ye're not serious... right?"

"Why not?"

"'Cause it's insane! Even with the best tech in the universe, we couldna get away with it. Ye really think we could evade planetary defense?"

Corry nodded, almost too earnest. "Hell yeah. If anyone could, it's us. You're smart enough to build all kinds of gizmos to hide us, and I'm experienced enough to sail this ship almost anywhere on this planet. We're a damn good team."

"Aye, the best, but..." Scott sighed. "It's madness, though I don't know if it's any more mad than decidin' to go and sink our competition. But in the end, it's just another way of runnin'. In the end, I'm still gonna do my level best to get on a starship, and in the end, ye'll still do your level best to stay here."

"I'm not..." Corry wanted to say that he wasn't running. But really, he was.

"If ye want it, really want it, I'll do everything I can. Build ye sensor screens, deck this lass out to the point where she'd be nothin' more than a ghost." Scott nodded, though he still looked entirely not thrilled with the idea. "And I suppose that for a while, ye'd probably be able to hide, but that doesn't make it any less madness. Still, if ye want it, I'd do it. But I'm not stayin' grounded forever, if I have any choice. Not even here."

It _was_ insane. Corry knew that. He knew how far-fetched the idea was, and just how much it would cost him if he went through with it. It was a dream for dreamers, for young dreamers, for someone who probably should have never joined Starfleet. But for one brief moment, he wanted nothing more than to reach out and grab onto it. "You would, too, wouldn't you?"

"Aye, I would."

"But you'll still leave."

"Right."

"Guess it'll have to wait then." Corry smiled, wryly, putting his hands behind his back. "We still have retirement, right? Maybe when we're out of the service we can go out and cause mischief and mayhem."

"Now there's an idea," Scotty said, relieved that he wouldn't be called on to commit any serious crimes in the near future, aside from the one he'd already planned and started executing. Running over the notion a few times, he nodded, more seriously than before. "Retirement, then. If the _Grey's_ still here, we'll use her, and if not, we can always buy a boat."

"So it's a deal?"

"It's a deal."

* * *

Scott was still toying with the notion, even as he took the rounds and made sure everything on the schooner was in order. He was still running over it, over being a sailor of some sort whenever he retired. Starfleet service was fifteen years - they trained for four (or in his case, three), and the rest of the time, they put that training to use. That would make him thirty-six when he hit the minimum service requirement, and forty-one whenever he was eligible for full retirement with benefits.

Really, he had always thought he would be a career officer. There until he died or they kicked him out. And he couldn't imagine being forty-something period, not at twenty-one, with his whole life ahead of him.

But Corry's reckless dreaming did strike a nerve. Scotty wasn't a romantic, but he was a dreamer; it was what had driven him to want starship duty in the first place. Dreaming of being the best in his field, with a starship of his own, and a whole universe to help explore. It was right there, right within his reach.

Well, before he had decided he wanted to sink another person's ship. They were going to fire on the _Queen Mary_ in only a couple of days or so, and he was going to be looking at real charges and real punishments. If anything went wrong and someone lost their life, there wouldn't be a career on anything but a prison asteroid.

Not exactly what he had in mind when he'd joined up.

It wasn't often that Scott doubted his initial decision, but this was one of those times. He had taken so much into account, all the way from how they would get the _Queen Mary's_ crew off of their ship to how they would attack, but his own naivety never allowed him to think it could go horribly wrong.

Still, he was looking at a possible end to everything he had dreamed of, no matter his reasoning. A board of inquiry wouldn't look at his motivations. All they would know was that he'd failed to go through the proper channels, and now there was answering to be done.

Scott was still a fighter, though. Bowing one too many times to the whim of others had steeled his resolve, and if there was a stand to be made, it was going to be on the Atlantic. He could have quit pursuing the matter once Security had closed the book on the sabotage, but if he did, he might not be able to stand firm in the future, when everything could depend on it. Where did that leave him?

Right now, on the quarterdeck, lost in thought, looking aft at the sunrise. The ocean was strangely calm, and they weren't moving nearly as well as they had been. The _Lady Grey_ couldn't have been making more than a few knots, just bowing along gracefully on her port tack. Even he wasn't having trouble with the motion, not as easy and smooth as it was.

Sunset had been spectacular for days, but somewhat dull the night before. Sunrise, however, seemed to be making up for it. Scott grinned to himself, leaning on the stern taffrail, just enjoying it.

For some reason, though, he couldn't completely get lost in it. There was something in the back of his mind that offset even that sight. Thinking on it, he tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes. It wasn't Corry's crazy idea, even though he knew he'd be giving that more thought over the next couple days. And it wasn't the ship, because she was in fine form, all elegance and grace.

The sky was brightening by the minute, near an hour into his watch. The world was so calm that Scott could almost pretend it was like one of his sister's paintings, caught in immortality. All red, climbing in intensity until it was nearly painful to look at.

It was there, leaning on the rail and highlighted crimson, that he realized something.

It had been red the morning before the _Lady Grey_ had been burned.

* * *

It had become almost a custom for Scotty to nap up against the bulwark, usually so that he was in the sun and so that he could offset the fact there were always going to be bells rung during the night hours. That had earned him a decent tan if nothing else, but other than that, it was just one of his quirks.

It was almost a custom because they'd only been out there for five days, but out of five he'd ended up sleeping better on deck than he did in his cabin for four of them. Why was a mystery, because the bell still rang out its time every half-hour, but there was just something to it, something almost peaceful.

Just not today.

He'd spent most of the morning watch checking everything. The lines, the hull, the steering, everything. But so far as he could tell - and who better to look? - the _Grey_ was in peak condition. He'd checked the positions of the competition, too; _Wildstorm_ was still comfortably in the lead, the _Queen Mary_ was comfortably behind. Everything was fine.

All he'd really managed to do was wear himself out, and still ill at ease he went to his usual spot, curled up between the brace and railing, and tried to sleep it off.

Whatever it was that had gotten Scott all worked up had apparently infected Corrigan as well. Just five hours after he'd turned in, he was back on deck, pacing around and looking ever westward.

And, because Corry was uptight, it bled into everyone on watch. Before long, he wasn't the only one pacing around.

Shaking his head, he made the rounds and checked everything, just like Scott had during his watch. Corry wasn't on duty yet, but that didn't matter - this was just part of being a sailor. Plus, as captain, he was always on call. Once he was satisfied that everything was all right and good, he went back to where his roommate was dozing restlessly, kicking lightly at his boot.

Scotty jumped, and probably would have been on his feet and swinging if only the adrenaline rush hadn't nearly shorted his brain out. Taking a shaky breath, he gave Corry a baleful look. "Was that necessary?"

"Not really," Corry replied, jokingly, "but you're welcome." He smiled for a moment, then went back to being more serious. "Can't sleep, huh?"

"I was tryin'," Scott said, standing. "And I mighta succeeded, if ye weren't so bloody cold-hearted."

"A mortal blow, thou hast dealt me." Corrigan struck a terribly dramatic pose, turning his tortured eyes to the sky. "Pray, my good man, pull this knife from my heart lest it freeze there!"

God, it really was impossible to be pissed off when he was acting like that. Scott rolled his eyes, not particularly wanting to laugh and give in, but he failed anyway. "Ye need locked up... preferably in a padded room, with white walls."

"Two knives! Knave! Two knives in less than a moment, so swiftly that the thrust was a blur to the eye. Prithee do not be so cruel, sir, for my wounded self cannot bear the agony of betrayal, and the wounds are truly mortal." His eyes widening, Corry clutched his chest, slowly dropping to his knees. "My God, it has happened, this is the end! The fates have decreed it, and I, a simple sailor, must now be snipped clean, without so much as a last strand to cling to..." Choking, he dropped onto the deck, looking up at the sky. "Goodbye, goodbye, oh sunny days and fair weather... goodbye, life, thou hast been unkind and unjust... goodbye-"

Scotty mimed looking at a watch, tapping his foot on deck, not able to completely hide the amused smile. "Can we skip ten years? Might be close to the end o' the soliloquy."

"-goodbye, acting career, you died before you were even realized!" Laughing just because, Corry stood again. "C'mon, it wasn't _that_ bad."

"Don't quit yer day job."

"Especially not right now," Balimer cut in, having watched for half of Corry's great testament to acting, and who now actually stepped forward and made his presence known. "Routine check-in with Starfleet's good, but they're forecasting a weather disturbance."

It took maybe a half a second for it to all click together with Corrigan; the unease he felt, as well as most of his crew. He had already guessed that they were in for some heavier weather than the smooth sailing of the last several days, but he'd been waiting for it to be confirmed. "How bad?"

"Right now, it's at Force 6... out of the southwest, wind at twenty-five knots, waves projected at thirteen feet average, and eighteen significant." Balimer nodded. "They don't think it's going to get any worse."

Corry nodded himself, going over his almost encyclopedic knowledge of the prevailing winds. He'd made damn sure to brush up on the topic before they went out. "It probably won't. At Force 6, we can pretty much push right through it... be a bumpy ride, but not dangerous."

Bumpy ride. Scotty didn't like words like that, particularly when they were used in the same sentence. That meant he would be sick as all Hell until it blew over, unless by some divine act he was cured of that particular ailment. Before they had a chance to go further into their discussion of weather patterns, he broke in, "I'm goin' below. Maybe try'n get some sleep before this hits."

"Good idea. Chances are, most people'll be wide awake when it gets rough." Corrigan smiled slightly, still working out how they would approach the weather. "Talk to ya later?"

"Aye," Scott answered, offhand, looking westward. For some reason, despite all self assurances that it was more of a weather disturbance than an actual storm, he couldn't shake the feeling that whatever it was, 'bumpy ride' wouldn't do it justice.

Still uneasy, he shook his head and started for the steps.


	22. Part 4: Zero Moment: Chapter 4

_Chapter 4:_

_Saturday, June 10th, 2243  
The _Lady Grey_  
On the North Atlantic_

The first kiss of an ill wind was nearly always enough to make anyone familiar with the ocean stop and look around nervously at the sky. It just was - a primal understanding, maybe, or maybe it was something as simple as some long-disused instinct. Usually there were signs long before that; a wave out of place, a dropping barometer, or the predominant winds shifting directions almost on whimsy, backing around the compass.

All of those were signs of a storm, but the first actually touch of ill wind was the clincher. Anyone with a lick of sense knew to start dogging down the hatches and securing any loose deck gear.

The crew of the _Lady Grey_ was no different. They knew there was heavy weather on the way, but when the first gust rattled the rigging, every single person on deck paused in what they were doing and started looking skyward.

After a solid week, most of them fancied themselves sailors, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing in fair weather. It gave them the confidence to carry out their duties efficiently. But this wasn't going to be fair weather, and that dreamlike flight of fancy was trickling away.

Of course, Scotty never fancied himself a sailor, no matter how good he had gotten at walking on deck. He knew better; he was a good shipwright, but as for being a sailor... no. Oh, he enjoyed the ocean and he absolutely loved seeing the _Grey_ perform, but when it came right down to it, he didn't pretend to be even half as efficient as most of the rest of the cadets.

So reeling around on deck during a storm was probably one of the last things he wanted to do.

And, of course, Corrigan was the exact opposite. Proficient, dauntless, completely fearless; he was a sailor through and didn't pretend not to be. When the wind started rattling the sails, he grinned an almost feral grin at the challenge and prepared to meet it head on.

Standing on the weather side railing, like night and day, they watched the blackening sky as the rest of the crew scurried around nervously. All the necessary orders had been given. All that was left to do was wait.

"Best place to be is amidships and on the centerline," Corry offered, helpfully, though he didn't take his eyes off of the black clouds. He didn't need to; he felt the irritated, sidelong glance Scott gave him. "What? It's true."

As if Scott didn't know that. Hell, one didn't design a ship and not know her stability ratings. "Nooooo, really?"

Corry grinned again, more amused now. The biting sarcasm was typical, but the undertone of nervousness wasn't. "Just thought I'd remind you. Better bring along your crackers."

Scotty tried for a scoff and ended up with a chuckle. "Keep it up, and I'll mutiny. Keel haul ye, or somethin' along those lines."

"Sure, I can see you trying to order the crew around without me. 'Pull that rope thingy, turn the wheel thataway, an' see about gettin' me some crackers.'" Corrigan snickered, crossing his arms. "Face it, you need me here."

Scott didn't deign to look over, just reached across the gap and whapped Corry in the back of the head, though only lightly. "'Well, cripes, since I'm so completely in love with myself, I might as well go and save the universe while I'm at it.'"

Corrigan frowned briefly, but not seriously. "Oooh, Pup came up with a good one. Let's note that one down in the books."

"Wolf. If ye're gonna call me somethin' canine related, get it right."

"Sorry, Mutt," Corry said, this time ducking under the intended assault.

Scotty waited until he was standing straight again, then nailed him a little harder in the head. "Bastard."

Corrigan smoothed his hair back down, shaking his head with a laugh. As long as he could keep his second in command in high spirits, the rest of the crew would be all right. He might have been the captain, and a good captain, but the crew didn't gauge how scared to be from his reactions. They looked to Scott. If he was genuinely upset, it was because there was a very real reason to be. Up until now, he'd been edgy - checking the barometer, calculating out different scenarios, double checking the charts - but not much worse. "All nicknames aside, it won't be too bad. Nothing that the _Grey_ can't handle."

"Aye, I know," Scott answered. More to himself, he added, "She's a Hell of a good ship."

Corry smiled, finally turning back to look at the deck crew running around. "Don't go forgetting that while you stumble around with your crackers." More seriously, he said, "And for God's sake, if a wave hits wrong, find something to hold onto and don't let go."

* * *

It was a sound that couldn't easily be described. Somewhere between a shriek and a moan, the wind tore the air to shreds and made its eerie cries through the rigging of the _Lady Grey_, very effectively adding to the sense of inherent loneliness that came with being so far (so terribly far) from dry ground and safety.

The boards creaked at the stress of the waves pounding, but even then she didn't seem to be in danger. She wasn't making much headway, but her bow was kept relatively into the waves, her sails were reefed short for the sake of not careening blindly, and Corrigan was at the helm, steering a path into the teeth of this 'weather disturbance'.

Really, it wasn't a bad storm. The waves were sharp and breaking, but not very large. The wind was howling, but it wasn't so awful that they couldn't keep going. The decision had been made to keep on course - if it were really a serious storm, they would have hove to and rode it out.

So it wasn't bad. Really.

Scotty told himself that over and over, braced as well as he could be under the shelter of the quarterdeck. Mentally, he reassured himself that this would be fine and that he absolutely would not crawl to the rail and lose his breakfast, lunch, dinner, and every single damn saltine he'd been nibbling at since it started getting rough. No, he could handle it. No little weather disturbance would take him down, nu uh.

He whimpered, somewhat pathetically, and clung to the wooden beam bracing the quarterdeck. He could hear Corry whooping it up above him, and in a brief flash of immaturity wished something harmlessly unpleasant on his friend... maybe it wasn't a nice thing to wish, but then, he wasn't in a really nice mood at that particular moment.

The deck rolled to starboard, he leaned to port, waged battle with his sense of balance and gradually won. Felt rather like his stomach was left to starboard, though, and as for any thoughts of ill will towards Corrigan, they went right over too. Scott just didn't have the resolve it took to stay on his feet _and_ think about Corry's disgusting good humor at the situation.

Trying to take his mind off of it, he wrapped an arm around the brace and pulled one of the emergency communicators out of the pocket of his oilskin trenchcoat. Maybe there would be something hopeful on the weather band, and he wouldn't have to suffer for too long. He flipped it open and fiddled with the dial, then held it up close to his ear so he could hear the tiny speaker over the wind, waves and general Hellishness on deck.

Static.

Frowning, momentarily forgetting about the storm, Scott checked to make sure he had it tuned into the proper frequency. The communicators weren't perfect, but they were certainly powerful enough to cut through some rough weather... he could pull in starships in orbit, let alone the planetwide weather band.

It was right, and there was still nothing but static.

It could have been the communicator, but it had been working just a few hours ago when they'd checked the forecast for updates. It wasn't storm interference; there was a little lightning, but nothing powerful enough to short out the range on a subspace device like that.

He frowned deeper still, unconsciously finding his sea legs once he stopped thinking about the maelstrom and started focusing on the problem at hand. Twisting the dial again, this time aiming for Spacedock's powerful transmitters, he held it up and listened, uneasily. If his communicator was out, and if everyone else's was as well, then they really were alone out there.

For some reason, that fleeting thought made Scott shudder from head to toe.

Maybe it was water damage. Nodding to himself, he went over the likelihood that enough water had seeped into the usually watertight circuitry. Afterall, it was raining... no, not raining, _pouring_. Add in the spray from waves hitting the ship and the overall moisture content of the atmosphere, and it was almost a certainty.

So why, when he had such a good reason for the communicator to be out, did he still feel like he was in a desperate situation?

Shoving those thoughts aside, the cadet slipped back to the steps and headed down below, where he could check the delicate internal circuits without risking any further damage. The oil lanterns didn't provide much light, but at least there was more there than on deck, and if he was desperate enough he had emergency power lamps stowed away.

It wasn't much quieter, but quiet enough. At the bottom of the stairwell, he braced the toes of his boots against the opposite wall, leaned back, and tried one last time to tune in something... anything.

The white noise of static seemed unbearably loud, even with the storm howling above.

_"God, we're alone,"_ he thought, digging through his pockets to find his screwdriver. Logically, he should have gone and checked to see if the other communicators were working, but then, his logic had flown the coop a long time ago.

He was just about to pry open the casing and check for damage when a break came through the static. No transmission, but a break. Something that momentarily cut the noise. Sinking down until he was sitting at the bottom of the stairwell, half-shadowed in the back and forth dance of the lamps, he listened.

Static... emptiness... c'mon, something caused that. Maybe they weren't totally on their own out there, maybe something was there and the world wasn't compacted to the small space of the schooner.

He realized, abstractly, that sometimes the world and the universe could really be that small. And that he was even smaller.

But not as small as whoever it was whose voice made it through the static, the wind, the creaking. Not that small. With dawning horror, he heard the cry through the night of someone far more frightened and alone than him.

_"Please, God... someone hear this... ... ...capsized, going down... ..."_ a broken sob, _"I don't wanna die like this."_

* * *

Corry stood the helm alternately for Lewis and he was loving every minute of it. Sure, most of his crew looked positively sick and ready to give up sailing forever, but for him, this was the ultimate high. Starfleet could keep their starships, their so-called adventures to other worlds. When compared to the feeling of facing off, one-on-one with Nature, their catch phrase of 'Adventure! Exploration! Advancement! Join Starfleet Today and See the Universe!' seemed laughable.

He thought himself a part of this, as elemental as the wind he was fighting. He never once thought of himself alone out there. Holding on with an unwavering grip, feet braced apart, he was just about to whoop again triumphantly when Scott stepped in front of the wheel.

There was something in his expression, in his eyes, that completely and totally stopped Corrigan in his thoughts. Like slamming into a brick wall. He didn't even have time to blink before Scotty leapt into it, "Communications're out, we've got a ship down somewhere, ahead or behind, I dinna know, but someone's in trouble."

It took a few seconds for Corry to grasp what was said. "Down?"

_"Down,"_ Scott affirmed, with a deadly intensity. Those few seconds were important... God, they could mean the difference between life and death on a storm-surged, cold ocean, hundreds of miles from safety. Desperately, he half-begged, "Corry, go!"

Corrigan leaped into action. He could always get the details of his friend's reasoning later - right now, he didn't have time to ask. Grabbing Scott unceremoniously, he shoved him in the direction of the wheel, not taking the time to see if he got the hint. Then, sliding on the wet deck, he nearly ran into the bell post.

**_*ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding*_**

The bell clanged hard, the brass notes louder and sharper than they had ever been. It struck fear into just about anyone who could hear it - this wasn't the watch being called, this was an emergency. Lewis came skidding up within five seconds, "What is it?"

"Ship going down, don't know where," Corry said, hurriedly. "Get three people to stand lookout on the bow, three on the stern, and two on each rail. Tell 'em to look for anything... lights, shadows, blurs... anything!"

Lewis nodded sharply. "You'd best get someone to try to raise Starfleet."

"Communications are out," Scotty interrupted, having snatched someone to take the helm for him. "I dinna know how I got even that, but it was broken up all to Hell, and there's no way we can get Starfleet."

"And we'll get the boats ready to swing out," Corry ordered, more calm now that things were being set into motion. "We'll need to be ready to heave-to in an instant, no less, so I want all hands on deck. I don't care if they're puking everywhere, I want them out here."

"Boats're already bein' prepped." Nodding smartly, Scott looked less than patient as he awaited the next task to be carried out. "We'll need someone to try'n raise 'em again, and get a position, or their last position, their ident... whatever they can."

"I'll get someone on it." Corrigan felt a brief flash of gratitude that he had a second in command who was capable of taking the initiative, but didn't allow himself to dwell on it. "Keep at the helm... just hold on and keep us on course, no matter what. I'll have any course corrections relayed, and see if someone with a tricorder can't pick up their emergency transponder signal."

"Aye aye, sir," Scott replied, turning on his heel and going back to his post. It wasn't the job he would have preferred having -Christ, one slip and he could put them far away from their intended target - but Corry was the Captain, and he would follow orders.

Relieving a very green cadet, he grabbed the spokes, realizing for the first time just how much effort it was going to take to keep the _Lady Grey_ where they wanted her. Before, he hadn't had time to really dwell on it - now, he could see he had his work cut out for him. Gone was the easy task that he'd once enjoyed; this was a pitched battle against the elements.

The wheel jerked hard as she came down from the crest of one wave and dove her bow into the trough of the next. It nearly tore the spokes out of Scott's hands, but he just braced his feet as well as he could, gritted his teeth at the strain, and used his body to wrestle her back. Trying to ignore the fear that began to invade his mind, he prepared himself for the next fight.

Whether he was trying to encourage himself, or those who he was going to attempt to save, was undetermined. When it came down to it, it didn't matter.

_"Hold on... it'll be all right."_

* * *

The _Lady Grey_ battled her way along into the night. Looking through the spray, rain and mist, her running lights might have seemed almost ghostly; green, white and red, glowing as brightly as possible. Lewis had mounted a high powered emergency searchlight on the bow, hoping to see enough ahead to avoid any collisions, and it really was the only strong source of light in the wind-torn night. It wasn't just a weather disturbance anymore, it was a gale. Not a fierce gale, but a gale nonetheless.

It was the crew that distinguished themselves, proving that Starfleet had not wasted their time on training them. Gone was the complaining, the misery and the general discontent; they were all too busy to worry about themselves right then. If Barrett would have been able to see them, he would have been more than proud of all of them.

All but one, that is.

Exactly when it happened couldn't be said, but when Albright went to sound the hull and make certain she wasn't leaking anywhere, he stepped down onto the hold floor and found an inch of water.

On the quarterdeck, still waging a one-man war, Scott didn't fail to notice that the schooner wasn't reacting quite right - she was almost sluggish, and didn't want to respond readily to the course corrections that Corry shouted back. It was he who had sent Joe down to make certain they weren't taking on water.

Really, he knew before Albright ever showed back up. It was in the deck, the wheel, the different sounds... it just didn't _feel_ right. He'd gotten fairly apt at deciphering those senses; apt at listening to his instincts when they said that something was wrong.

When Albright stepped onto the quarterdeck, all it took was one, brief glance to confirm the truth. The wind shrieked above, a nerve-wracking sound, but it wasn't the cry above that made Scotty shiver, and it wasn't the driving rain either. It was another cry altogether.

For one moment, he was back in the pitch black slip, fumbling with the wires, smoke-blind and breathless, fighting to save his ship as she wailed in his head...

...and in the next, he was moving. "Joe, take the wheel!" With that hasty order, he barely waited long enough for the other cadet to take over before sprinting across the deck. One good wave would have put him right overboard, but fate wasn't that cruel, and he literally slid into the bulwark, grabbed onto it, and all but leapt down the steps to the maindeck.

Corry was still racing around, shouting back and forth with the lookouts, and Lewis had his team on the sails. The entire maindeck was almost surreal; lit by nothing but the dim, jury-rigged decklights, spray from the waves washing every which way, people stumbling and tripping around as they did their best to comply with orders. Scott nearly ended up running into more than a few people as he headed for the bow, sliding this way and that on the boards, but he made it without knocking anyone over.

He ended up skidding right into Corry, who only just kept his footing. Corrigan turned, ready to start chewing out the clumsy fool, and stopped when he saw who it was. "Aren't you supposed to be at the wheel?"

"The _Grey_," Scott managed, panting. "We're takin' on water."

"Oh shit." Corrigan's eyes widened. "How bad is it?"

"Losin' steerage, and she's rollin' further, rightin' slower." Finally catching his breath and getting his tattered thoughts under control, Scott stood straighter. "We get knocked over, and we'll lose our rightin' arm that much quicker."

Corry blanched at the thought, running through the implications frantically. If one reasonably large freak wave hit her on her beam, she would be over. She wouldn't be able to right herself with the water shifting inside of her hull, changing her center of gravity. "Zero moment point. God, we can't stop, though..."

"Sir!"

Scott and Corrigan turned in unison, though it was Corry who asked, "What?"

Balimer tripped and stumbled over, clutching the communicator in one hand. "It's the _Wildstorm_. She's on her beam ends and downflooding, they have two boats in the water, but the rest can't be launched, her masts are down, most of the people are on the hull. Signal keeps getting stronger, I told 'em to set up an emergency beacon, flare, something."

"Good!" Turning again, Corry barked up to his forward lookouts, "Look sharp, guys, we're getting close!"

"Corry..." Scotty's voice was edged with desperation; not a good sign at all.

Corry looked back. It was time for a command decision, and he knew it - if they didn't heave-to and patch the hull, she would become more and more vulnerable. If they did, the _Wildstorm's_ crew would be in the cold water on a sinking ship that much longer - there were a thousand and one ways to die on a ship going down. He couldn't take the crew away from Lewis to have them man the pumps, not until they were hove-to. Rescue crews didn't even know they were in danger, what with the comm out and the emergency transponders apparently not working.

One way or another, it was a point of no return, no matter what he did.

Corry took a deep breath. "We have to keep going... hold her together, Scotty. However you can."

There was a long moment, and even amidst the chaos, it seemed almost quiet.

Then, nodding smartly, snapping to attention, Scott answered, "Aye aye, sir." And already trying to plan ahead, he turned and headed for the stairs.


	23. Part 4: Zero Moment: Chapter 5

_Chapter 5:_

_Sunday, June 11th, 2243  
The _Lady Grey_  
On the North Atlantic  
_  
For once, the sound of trickling water wasn't soothing. It wasn't like listening to rain running down a window, or a small waterfall in the woods, or even a brook running over stones. Oh, the basic sounds were the same, but this time, it meant something wholly different.

This time, it meant that the _Lady Grey_ had been dealt a potentially mortal wound.

His boots sloshed in the water as Scott made his way along the dark corridor, deep inside of the _Grey's_ superstructure, his hand light cutting a bright path through the gloom. Most of the lanterns were out, probably because no one had been down there to check them, and for some reason he found the presence of the torch reassuring.

Down there, where the wind and the chaos on deck were muffled to near nonexistence, the sounds of the ship were that much more powerful. More than once a loud creak made him jump. There were a few times that she rolled and he found himself up against the wall, praying through the cacophony inside his skull that she would come back to rights again.

So far, she hadn't let him down.

The noise of her laboring through the water wasn't nearly so distinct as that wail in his head, though. It wasn't a sound that could be described in human terms, because it wasn't a human voice... it wasn't any voice, it was just _there_. Just like the constant white noise air makes, only noticeable in a silent room, except this wasn't even white noise. It was louder, sharper and completely indescribable... familiar, but only to him.

The bilge was under his feet, and filled with water now. Stepping carefully, Scott shined the hand light down at the floor, looking for the hatch. He had put it there so that they could get the hose in and pump any water out... now he wanted to see if there was some way to get into the bilge and survey the damage.

Might require oxygen of some sort, even in short supply.

Tucking the light under one arm, he reached down and flipped the clasp, then pulled the handle. It came up easier than he expected; much easier. In fact, far, far too easily.

Water gushed up, temporarily shocking the heck right out of him. Yelping, he barely fought the urge down to jump away, turn tail and run up to the main deck. It was a brief battle, and he had to use every ounce of his weight to force that hatch down and lock it tight again.

Stumbling back and landing on his rear in two inches of sea water, Scotty toyed with the notion of having automatic electrical pumps installed, if they got out of this alive. "Sorry, lass," he murmured to the schooner, shakily. It was a stupid move on his part, and warranted an apology.

The hull creaked again, reminding him that this was still a very real issue and one that had to be dealt with as quickly as possible. But he couldn't see a way to repair the ship without diving under her... not without putting her at a more severe risk, anyway. The numbers were there to back it up; sixty-four pounds per cubic foot of water, versus volume of the bilge, free surface movement of liquid, maximum stresses of three inch oak deck planking... _Jesus_. Crawling to his feet, he ran through the list of emergency supplies onboard. There had to be something there, something he could use.

He turned, casting one last glance at the bilge hatch.

Then he looked up.

Standing there, looking as pale and a ghost and trembling from head to toe, was Harrison. Scotty startled, taking a backwards step and nearly landing himself right back down on the floor. "Bloody Hell!"

Harrison jumped back as well, eyes wide and almost manic. For a moment he stood there, like someone who wanted to run in several directions at once, then he apparently made up his mind and picked a way. Whirling, he headed for the steps.

Left behind, floating in the water, was a box of charges.

Scott blinked, looking down at the box. It really didn't click with him right at that moment. It had never once occurred to him that one of the _Lady Grey's_ own crew would try to hurt her, no matter the grudge; maybe Kelley's team, maybe someone outside of the group, but not one of her own. Not after all that had happened and all they had gone through just to get there. Not even a weasel like Harrison; not like _this_.

When it did, he took off after Harrison like a racer from the block, sliding around the edge of the stairwell and bounding up the steps. There wasn't much thought behind it... just pure motion. He was a half-minute or so behind, but when he did end up catching up, just outside on the main deck, he leapt on the other cadet in what could well have been the most graceful move of his life.

They slammed into the pump handle, ironically. Harrison took a few blind swings, panic stricken... it wasn't every day that something jumped on you out of the darkness, particularly when that something was snarling. He managed to connect once, but every other strike hit open air. Before he even had time to cry out, he was pinned down on the deck.

The face he was looking up at was almost more terrifying than the leap. It took him a few seconds to realize that he was looking at a human, not an animal.

Needless to say, Scott was living up to his nickname of Wolf. He didn't make any move to hit Harrison, but he sure as Hell looked like he wanted to. Voice low, somewhere between whisper and growl, he asked, _"Why?"_

Harrison didn't answer... just quivered, throat working as he swallowed again and again.

Knowing that he wasn't going to get an answer, Scotty resisted the first urge to punch the other cadet's lights out. He wanted to, oh did he want to, but it wouldn't serve any real purpose aside from his own enjoyment. Shaking his head in disgust, he got to his feet and dragged Harrison up, all but throwing him at Corry, who had been watching and holding his breath the whole time. "There's the hull leak."

Corrigan nodded, finally remembering to breathe. Collecting himself, he latched onto the saboteur, doing his best not to stammer. "I'll make sure we lock him up. What's the situation down there?"

"Bad. Can't get into the bilge, so any repairs'll have to be done from outside." Scott gave Harrison one last growl, then went back to mentally working on the immediate crisis. "The _Wildstorm_?"

"Close... real close. We should be on her any minute," Corry said, casting a nervous glance up at the bow. Their reaction time would have to be exceptional once the call was given.

"Cor, I'm goin' to have to-"

"_Wildstorm_ off the port bow!" Sallee bellowed back, unwittingly cutting off the shipwright in mid-sentence.

The reaction was instantaneous. Corry had been waiting for it, his nerves frayed, and when the shout came back, he yelled to his crew, "Bring the fore about! Helm, five to port! All hands on the lines!"

Scotty stood back, fairly sure that there wouldn't be anything he could do. Most everyone else had more experience in actually working the lines, and he had a big enough problem to deal with as it was. Grabbing 'hold of a shroud, he strained his eyes to see the _Wildstorm_, but through all of the gloom and confusion on deck, he couldn't even catch a glimpse.

The _Grey_ rolled under his feet, and he tightened his grip on the line. She wasn't answering to her helm, not as quickly as she had to in order to avoid getting her rudder tangled in the _Wildstorm's_ rigging... if she lost steerage, her lifespan was cut to minutes. She would turn beam to the seas, and end up just like the ship she was there to rescue.

"C'mon, lass, not much further," he whispered, without realizing it.

It was hard as Hell to think with all of the noise. The shouts of the crew yelling 'heave!', the wind shrieking, the waves hitting, the distant background noise of the _Wildstorm's_ crew shouting for help, the creaking... there was no peace to be found outside of his own skull, and really, none to be found inside either.

Slowly, the _Lady Grey_ came about. Her sails were rigged to cancel out her forward motion and still keep her head into the waves. There were almost thirty people onboard the schooner, and every single one of them was going to be devoted to saving the lives of the cadets and civilians in the water.

There was only one person who could save the _Lady Grey_.

His eyebrows drew together in a moment of profound realization, as he cast a look at his crew, trying to save lives and do the right thing. For a few seconds the noises seemed to fade away and everything took on another quality. It was like looking through a window into another world, and not being a part of it... alone, even among so many people.

For some reason Scott couldn't even begin to fathom, it made him sad. Taking a deep breath, he watched as they started lowering the boats, then turned and headed below.

* * *

The North Atlantic in this area was just above fifty degrees; cold enough to sap the life from anyone in the water for more than a very brief period of time. The wind was easing up, though, and so was the rain. Rescuing the _Wildstorm's_ crew might not be as dangerous as it would have been ten minutes ago. The squall had blown it's brief life out, just like that.

Corry stood by the falls of the lifeboat, waiting impatiently for the sailors who were going to man it. They were all gathering emergency med kits, lights and life jackets, and he tried not to get too anxious waiting. His crew had performed incredibly well, even this far out of the element they were trained for. That, in some part, was one of the reasons they were still afloat.

The seven men finally leapt over the boat's side, settling themselves as quickly as they could, and Corrigan gave the order to the crew on the falls, "Lower away!"

He wasn't there to see Harrison sneak away. In all of the bustle, he hadn't been secured - still, he seemed like he could do little harm, standing at the starboard side bulwark, staring out to sea. There were more important things to worry about than locking him away. He likely wouldn't create any more of a hazard now that he had been found out, and now that his own life was hanging in the balance as well.

If Corry had noticed, he might have wondered exactly what Harrison was doing, dragging on a survival suit and then jumping over the side and swimming into what seemed like nothingness. And if he had looked, he might have seen the _Queen Mary_, only a couple hundred or so feet away, almost invisible in the rain, mist and waves.

Not that it would have mattered anyway.

"Jerry! Go below and get every thermal blanket you can get your hands on." Looking around the deck, he trotted over to Lewis as Jansson followed orders. "Do you think we can spare anyone to man the pumps yet?"

Lewis paused in retying a line. "Maybe a few. You'll have to have them alternate, though... that kind of work exhausts people fast."

"Gotcha. Send 'em over. I have to get back to getting the other crew onboard."

"Aye aye, Captain," Lewis chuckled dryly, then went to round up people to start to pump out the water collected in the hull.

Corry watched him go, then went back to the bulwark, just as the _Wildstorm's_ first boat arrived. Everything was proceeding according to plan.

* * *

Everything was going wrong. There wasn't any other way to put it - every single thing that could throw a serious monkey wrench into his plans happened. There wasn't enough epoxy to patch a dinghy's hull, let alone that of a schooner. There was no serious diving gear, just a few emergency oxygen canisters that guaranteed, at their total of four, two minutes of air. There were survival suits, but every one of them was in use by the rescue team.

Not enough time, not enough air, not enough materials.

Scott ran around the below decks, gathering what he could. He growled about it the entire way, as was his habit when everything went wrong, but he certainly didn't think to give up his plan. Afterall, there wasn't a hope in the world of changing the simple facts: The _Grey_ was going down. She now had near a foot of water on her bottom deck, and with every single drop, there was more and more stress on the boards. Something was going to give, or something would knock her over, but left alone, she had no hope. She would sink.

It was inevitable.

Leaping down the steps, he landed in that foot of water. There was now only one lamp still burning. Her nose went into the trough of a wave, and the water came rushing down the deck, nearly taking him right off of his feet.

"Dammit," Scotty said, to no one in particular, fighting the movement of the water as her bow rose again and he had to battle his way along a deck that couldn't decide if it was uphill or down. When he finally made it to the room he had been aiming for, it was a foot and an inch. Water was seeping up through the floorboards, where the caulking had sprung.

It was rapidly reaching the point of no return - as Corry had called it, the zero moment point. It was that point where her center of gravity, now altered by the water, cancelled out her natural buoyancy. And once that point was passed, there was nothing that would save her.

With that much water inside of the hull, that point was getting closer by the second.

Digging through the equipment that had come loose from all of the wave action, Scotty was closer to panic than he had been in a very long time. Of all of the people onboard, he knew the numbers better than anyone. Her fate was his, and determined the lives of every single person onboard. If he failed, it wasn't just the schooner at stake.

He almost whooped for joy when he found the rubber life raft. Snatching it and a length of rope, he made back for the gun deck where the rest of his ship saving gear was stowed.

* * *

Corry didn't know what his best friend was planning. If he had, it was a surefire thing that he would have put a stop to it. It was dangerous... no, it was probably more than dangerous. On a storm-surged ocean during the wee hours of morning, it was dancing with Death.

It's said that there's a fine line between courage and stupidity, and Montgomery Scott was walking right on it. Not to say that he was usually foolish, at least not before this - if anything, he tried to err on the side of caution most of the time. Double-check everything. Always have a backup plan. In fact, have a backup plan _for_ the backup plan. Never forget about that bastard Murphy and his law, because it'll always be there.

He was probably the last person in the world anyone would expect to throw all of his chips down on one hand, particularly one this lousy.

That thought made him pause on the stern taffrail, looking down into the streaked waves, and reminded him yet again just how small he really was. Forward, people were running around, hustling to tend to the half-frozen rescues, pulling more people out of the water, and generally doing all they could.

And then, there he was, hesitating. Finding a reason to stall, maybe half-hoping in the back of his mind that someone would stop him. O2 canisters, check. Light, check. Epoxy, check. Life raft, check. Rope, check.

That was everything, and he still couldn't quite force himself into jumping. He wasn't a good swimmer, not compared to Corry or some of the other cadets. He didn't even know where the hull leak was, exactly. He didn't have a backup plan.

He was _scared_.

Taking a deep breath, Scott tried his damnedest to drive back that fear and the hundreds of questions that ran through his mind, not the least of which was, _"What if I don't make it back?"_

Inhale, don't think about not coming back. Over the entire history of man, there had been millions of people who had flung themselves into a situation where they might not survive. At the worst, they were younger than he was, torn out of a life that was comforting, familiar and safe, and thrown into a place where they had so little chance. At the best, they were revered as heroes.

At least he had a choice, and dammit, if he was going to die down there, he was going to do it like a man. If he was going to dance with Death, then he couldn't do any worse than make that price as high as possible before it all played out. Taking one more breath, he held it this time and dove into the Atlantic.

Well, he didn't succeed in holding it for long, and any thoughts of heroics or history were driven far out of his mind. The moment he was back on the surface, he was gasping for air a mile a minute, almost panic-stricken by the sudden cold, the sharp sting of salt in his eyes, the water pressure, everything. It was all Scott could do to keep his head above water, trying to calm back down, to get his shattered thoughts back together. To tell himself to think. To think and to breathe and to swim.

It took him far too long to calm down enough to actually take a breath, hold it, and dive.

Christ, it was cold. He knew it would be, but the actual shock of it was still too sharp and sudden to brush off. He'd been soaked already from rain, but this wasn't rain, this was salt water and three miles below him was an ocean floor that he would be on if the emergency line he had looped around his waist broke.

Keep calm, don't start going chicken now. There was nothing quite like a panic attack to eat away what oxygen he did have, and he was already feeling the pressure build. Pulling the light off of his makeshift rope harness, he turned it on and shined it ahead, trying to find the _Grey's_ hull in all of that mess. She should be right in front of him, if the currents weren't dragging him.

It took another thirty seconds to find her, and Scott was aware of the passage of time... painfully aware of it, and of the fact that he was starting to suffer oxygen deprivation already. If this was the way it was going to happen, he would never be able to fix the hull.

He still held out for fifteen more seconds before grabbing the first canister and taking a breath. The clean air was making him light-headed, but it was better than the impending blackness if he'd waited much longer.

Bottom of the hull, and she was moving... up, down, left, right, it was all he could do to avoid having her come down on him. He kept the light pointed up, kicking evasively whenever it looked like he might be in too much trouble. One good whack from a schooner with one hundred and thirty tons of displacement would finish the entire endeavour. He would be dead, and after maybe another hour or two, everyone else would be close behind.

So, shoving any pointless thought out of his mind and approaching his own personal zero moment point, he continued to search.

* * *

"How many more've we got?" Corry asked Lewis, as the bos'un came aboard from lifeboat three.

"Everyone's out of the water now," Lewis answered, grabbing hold of the bulwark and leaning on it for a moment or two. He was fairly exhausted - most of them were. It was a Hell of a lot of work to pull soaked and torpid people from an ocean and still keep a lifeboat from being capsized by waves. The fact that Team C could do it was no small compliment. "A head count shows no casualties, but there are some pretty hypothermic people in there."

Corrigan nodded, mentally running through the checklist of things that still needed to be completed. He had control of the sailors, they had a few men on the pumps, everyone else who wasn't in the midst of those tasks were tending to the unexpected guests. Now... now for the hull leak. "We're going to have to get some people on patching the hull. Right now, the pumps are only slowing it down a little." Frowning, he looked around the deck. "Where's Scotty?"

"Haven't seen him," Lewis said, standing straight again. "Want me to go looking?"

"Yeah, send him up here. I need someone good to supervise whoever we end up sending down under the ship."

Lewis nodded and trotted off, fairly spry for being as tired as he no doubt was. Corry took a deep breath, turning to the next task at hand. Seemed like there was a million things to do, and every single one of them was vying for space at the forefront of his mind. But the weather was calming fast, and though the waves were still high, at least visibility had increased.

Only peripherally, he was aware that the sky was started to creep into light.

Turning and walking to the opposite side, he helped one of the shell-shocked crewmembers of the _Wildstorm_ down to the sheltered quarterdeck, where there were people who could help. Then he went back forwards.

And then he nearly fainted.

Standing on the deck, looking like he was about to drop from pure exhaustion, was Sean Kelley.

Corry stepped forwards, more concerned than anything else. "The _Queen Mary_?" he asked, praying that the steel ship hadn't met a fate similar to the _Wildstorm_. If she had... if she had, Corrigan was seriously going to consider that Someone had it in for him and his crew.

Kelley shook his head, reeling, not able to find enough strength to answer in more than a word. "Safe."

Corrigan frowned, stepping over to support the other cadet. There would be time for the story later, and he was sure it would be one Hell of a story. But right now wasn't the time to grill the half-frozen Kelley. A sense of fear gnawing deep in his gut, he led Sean back to the quarterdeck.

* * *

One step at a time, one breath at a time. The hull had taken a fair share of damage, not so much from the blast that Harrison had dealt, but from the pressure of the water building in the bilge. Where the caulking had been sprung, there were now two boards come loose from her bottom, and if he didn't get the hull patched and the water pumped out, it would be a chain reaction.

An exponential curve, and it was climbing.

Scott had never had much of a problem when it came to knowing the urgency of a given situation. He could tell when something required immediate attention, and when something could be put off for a time.

This most certainly could not be put off. He'd abandoned the larger light for his penlight once he found the damage, which was easier to juggle with oxygen canisters and metal-based water-proof epoxy, and bright enough to do a tolerable job. Normally, he could have sealed the entire area off with that stuff, but there wasn't enough of it - not for this kind of damage.

He hadn't failed to note that the large light, vanishing down into the blackness, was terribly eerie.

Lob the stuff on, fix an edge of the rubber raft to it. The raft itself was damn strong material, and he'd disabled the automatic inflation device... if they could relieve the pressure on the hull, it would hold until they could get her back to land. And he could always go down into the bilge and work on it, even at sea.

Another breath, and he was also well aware that he was down to one canister and thirty seconds of air. Take twenty more, and if he wasn't finished, he would have to make for the surface.

Another edge fixed. Just a little over half done. Thirty seconds of air, which roughly translated to six minutes more on the dive.

It had taken twelve to get that far.

Scotty didn't let himself think about that too hard. It was kind of amazing, though, that even in the midst of this there were still a few scattered ideas in his head.

Like Corry. He'd been right... the _Grey_ couldn't have stopped before getting to the _Wildstorm_. Scott had only been down there for about fifteen minutes, and he was already suffering terribly from the cold - if they would have waited, someone might have died from hypothermia.

And Barrett. Would he approve of this insane attempt? Would he understand why it had to be, and in particular, why it had to be Scott down there, and not someone else?

Scotty would have really, really liked to believe that yes, the professor would understand. Maybe not approve, but understand.

It was mercilessly cold. His hands didn't want to work right, and that was unnerving. He couldn't afford to fumble around, not now - setting his jaw all the harder, he kept working, racing time and air and everything in the world.

Another edge, two, three, breath. Twenty-five seconds.

The work wasn't exactly mindless, but it wasn't anything that required intense concentration. His hands, even half-numb, knew what to do. The thing that required his focus was the movement of the ship, and that in itself took more out of him than patching the hull ever could. If it had been smooth water, this would have been an easy task. Of course, if this was smooth water, it could have been put off somewhat, and he could have done the intelligent thing and told someone about this crazy little venture.

Why was it he'd done something so bloody foolish when he was normally so cautious?

The answer was almost too simple.

Because he _had _to.

Tack it down, one more... one more, breath. Twenty seconds.

* * *

Kelley was shivering, the thermal blanket wrapped so close around his shoulders that it might as well have been a second skin. But he was still awake... not very alert, but awake. Looking up, eyes dull and forlorn, he was almost unrecognizable as the arrogant cadet he'd been only a week before. "I jumped."

Corry's eyebrows drew, as he knelt beside Sean's chair. He expected some kind of treachery from the _Queen Mary's_ crew, but nothing that drastic. God only knew what the other crew had been planning, to make Kelley jump ship and risk swimming in a cold, stormy ocean to escape. "Why...?"

"Wouldn't s-stop." Sean's eyes closed. "Jamming the communicators, transponders."

"For us and the _Wildstorm_?"

"Yeah."

Corrigan wanted to ask more, but Sean looked like he wouldn't be able to do much more talking. So he nodded, even if the other cadet wouldn't see it. "All right... get some rest, Captain Kelley. We'll figure it out when you're up to it."

Kelley nodded slightly. There was humility in his voice, and gratitude, but that wasn't what spoke most profoundly on his state of mind. It was the tears that ran down his face that did that. "Th-thanks, Corry."

Corry winced internally, but kept himself steady on the outside. Patting Sean on the shoulder, he stood and went back out on deck. There was still a lot that had to be done, not the least of which was repairing the ship. Frowning, he looked around for some sign of his best friend or Lewis.

It struck him hard when he didn't see either.

* * *

Fifteen. Tack, balance, tack, tack.

God, he'd never be able to finish in time. Before, Scott had done his best to forget that fact, but now that the determining moment was approaching, and fast, he didn't have the luxury of ignoring it. Two minutes left before he had to try to swim out from under the hull, fighting cold and current and waves. Still a third left to tack down, and one good wave would be enough to destroy his hard work.

Enough to destroy everything.

He was working as fast as he could, praying for a miracle. Praying for something incredible to happen, because if it didn't, he would fail and all of this would have been for nothing.

How many times now had he faced this situation?

One more breath between him and that, and the zero moment point only a minute or so away. The moment where he had to decide if he would keep working and almost certainly drown, or whether he would leave and hope that someone would be able to get back down there before the still sharp wave action tore the unfinished patch loose.

It sort of surprised him that it wasn't a panicky moment at all, but almost unnaturally calm. It would have been amusing that it was so anti-climactic, if it weren't such a serious issue.

It really only came down to two possible choices. Sink or swim. Fight or retreat. Maybe even live or die, but no matter how hard he railed against the universe for it's injustices, nothing would change it.

_Zero moment._

If a miracle wouldn't be given to him, he'd just have to make his own.

The universe be damned.


	24. Part 4: Zero Moment: Chapter 6

_Chapter 6:_

_Sunday, June 11th, 2243  
The _Lady Grey_  
On the North Atlantic_

Courage isn't an easy thing to define, but Corrigan was certain that he had seen more acts of heroism in his one storm-ridden night on the _Lady Grey_ than he had in his entire life. The sheer amount of sacrifice, duty and honor were amazing to see, let alone to be surrounded by. He had watched his own crew offer their clothes and bunks to the cold survivors of the _Wildstorm_, he had watched the _Wildstorm's_ crew support each other.

The boats were stowed away, and time slowed down from the frantic rush it had been earlier, allowing Corry to have a moment or two to breathe. He'd been running around like a madman. The crew needed supervised, the survivors needed checked, the men were on the pumps...

Now he really, really needed to get someone to work on patching the hull. The waves were much longer and weren't breaking as soon as they had, so it would be almost safe to send a few people down in survival suits to start on the task. Frowning to himself, he spied Lewis across the deck, looking somewhat confused. It only took him a few seconds to jog over to the other cadet. "Find Scotty yet?"

Lewis shook his head, dumbfounded. "I've been from stem to stern and top to bottom... he's either hiding or he's vanished."

"Vanished?" One of Corry's eyebrows went up without him realizing it. People didn't just vanish, not on a schooner on the Atlantic. And Scott just wasn't the hiding kind; even seasick and off-balance, he was usually on deck or ready at hand. That only left two places where he could be - one was aloft in the rigging and the other was in the ocean.

Corrigan knew instantly where his best friend was. What he didn't know before then was that fear could be that sharp and sudden; so sharp and sudden that it took his breath away.

* * *

_"No..."_

* * *

The ocean didn't forgive foolishness. It was an indiscriminate killer - judge, jury and executioner. There was no mercy to be found, no comfort. Under the surface, it was a dark, cold and lonely world; one that had no real sight or sound.

It was irony at its best. Men could love the ocean, but never trust it.

The Atlantic had claimed many lives over the history of humanity. Then, over the past century or so, there had been none. Rescue operations had gotten too efficient, boats had become much more seaworthy, people had become a little wiser and they finally thought they had somehow made everything foolproof.

Scotty was learning that hard way that it wasn't nearly so foolproof as he would have believed two hours ago. And this time, he was the fool. The ocean hadn't forgotten. He'd never thought of it before, but 'la mer ne pardonne pas' was far more than just a phrase.

He found that he didn't care. Cold wasn't a word anymore - it was an entire state of existence, and pain didn't have much meaning either. The only thing that meant anything to him was the final brush of fingertips over the last bit of rubber, fixing it to the epoxy. It sealed the _Lady Grey's_ fate... and, he had already realized, his own.

How long left? Maybe a minute. He'd worked so fast that he hadn't noticed just how the whole process of death was really overrated before. No epiphanies, no great moments of bright gleaming light, no saintly voices beckoning him. His penlight had slipped from his fingers, had followed the large light down into the depths, and left him in the dark.

Scotty felt kind of disappointed - woulda been nice to go out in a blaze of glory.

Struggling vainly with the water, he was fairly sure he'd never see the surface. It was cold, he was tired and his ship was safe. What else was there? Everyone always says that there's a limit to what a human being can take before they give up, and giving up seemed like the best option of all. Go ahead and breathe in; it won't hurt for long. The worst of the agony from running out of air had long since passed, so what little pain there was left was meaningless. Then it'd be over.

No more fighting.

No more reason to fight.

If Scotty was hanging from a cliff, it would be by his fingertips, slipping. No one could save him, and he couldn't save himself. There was nothing left to fight for. The universe would just continue on, and he couldn't do one damned thing about it.

No rhyme, no reason, no moral, no nothing.

Ten seconds? Maybe less. Then it'd be over, and he'd be dead. Just that quick.

_"No."_

It wasn't self-preservation, sacrifice, duty or honor, either; it was courage in its purest form - in and of itself. It would never be praised, understood or even seen. It just was.

He raged suddenly in the battle, thoughtless, fighting all the harder simply because there was nothing else to do. It was a war without morals or any of the civilized virtues society could bestow; illogical, hopeless, primal defiance. Blatant refusal to go quietly.

On an equally primitive level, wordless...

For the first time in his life, he realized that he'd actually been fighting all along.

Nothing more than courage, struggling for oxygen.

.

.

.

.

.

.

...

"Don't fight," the voice said, and it was panic-stricken. Even far away, it sounded panicked. Frantic.

He wasn't entirely sure if he was breathing or not. Only that the idea of not fighting, either to failure or victory or just because was an impossible concept to grasp. If this was death, he wouldn't go out quietly.

"Please!" And the voice was closer and still desperate.

Corry.

Scott managed to drag himself out of the fog long enough to realize that his head was above water, and Cor had a death-grip on him, and it wasn't dark. But that was about it. And he was coming close to sinking the both of them, still half-battling to swim alone.

He paused there, finding the coordination to ask, "Got me?"

Confusion edged into Corry's voice as he struggled to keep them both afloat, but he answered, "I've gotcha."

"A'right," Scott said, and was somewhere he didn't know. Here, or there, or elsewhere. He just let his chin rest on the top of Corry's shoulder.

No more fighting.

And for the first time in his life, he trusted someone else to fight for him.


	25. Part 5: Across the Line: Chapter 1

**Part 5: Across the Line**

* * *

And what there is to conquer  
By strength and submission, has already been discovered  
Once or twice, or several times, by men whom one cannot hope  
To emulate - but there is no competition-  
There is only the fight to recover what has been lost  
And found and lost again and again: and now, under conditions  
That seem unpropitious. But perhaps neither gain nor loss.  
For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business.

-**T.S. Eliot**; East Coker

* * *

_Chapter 1:_

_Monday, June 12th, 2243  
The _Lady Grey_  
On the North Atlantic_

Nothing was the same.

There were no great fanfares or dramatic moments after the storm. Everyone lived when the wind died down, though there were enough close calls that it was most of a day before anyone really felt up to trying to actually tackle the big issues. What to do with the _Wildstorm's_ orphans. What to do about the fact that the _Queen Mary_ still had everyone jammed, according to her single orphan. What the plan of attack was.

Mostly, they just tried to recover; the only major thing that was dealt with quickly was the damage to the _Lady Grey's_ hull. Most of the water had been pumped out, enough that she could be worked on from the bilge, and once that was done, the tired crew set sail again. Limping, but alive.

But nothing was the same.

Scotty and Corry only spoke about it once; about the dive into the Atlantic. It was just after they had set sail again, driving on, both of them burned out, standing at the bow and trying hard to grasp what it was to not be who you thought you were, or where you thought you were.

"I could have killed you," Corry had said, and his voice was filled with shock and a million other things, all of them painful. "I gave you an order that could have killed you."

Scott was careful about how he replied, more careful than he might have been in any other situation. But it was honest. "I followed it knowin' it could. And I woulda gone even if ye hadn't given it."

There was quiet for a moment, then Cor asked, "How would I have lived with that?"

And for that, there was no reply. All Scott could do was hold silent in deference to a question that had no answers. How do you answer a question that you never had to face before? Moreso, what would you do if you were the one who had to ask it? It wasn't just a question about one situation, one potential mortality. It was a question about the fabric of life itself. How do you ever answer that?

There was no answer.

There never could be an answer.

"I'm sorry," he said, when the silence had gone on too long. Not for crossing that invisible line himself. He'd felt it before he dove, that other world that he wasn't a part of, looking through to the one that he was. That other world, the one where you no longer had certainties. Only questions. And then, he became a part of it.

Except, he didn't go alone. When he'd crossed the line, his best friend stepped across it with him. Had given up a place in the world they both knew and understood, and stepped into something else.

And neither of them could ever go back again.

_"I'm sorry,"_ he said again, and it came from his soul.

There was no deference in the reply. Corry just looked over, resolute.

"I'm not."

* * *

"I didn't know what was going on until it was too late," Sean said, looking far more coherent, though just like the rest of them, he likewise looked exhausted. "I can't really tell you much about the system they've got set up, but I know that it jams your frequencies, then sets up a kind of 'ghost' of your signals so that anyone monitoring thinks you're somewhere else."

"Why the _Wildstorm_, though? I mean, Jesus, you've got a ship going down and you don't stop?" Lewis sounded more than a little pissed off about it.

"I..." Sean sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I don't honestly think they believed it. I mean, visibility was awful. The only reason I even saw you guys was because you had your emergency lights on, and I think they thought it was all a ploy so that they'd stop and you could fire on 'em."

"Which means they knew about the guns." Corry shook his head, holding his coffee mug close to his chest.

"Well, yeah," Sean said, smiling for the first time since he'd come aboard, though it wasn't in humor. "Did you genuinely think no one would catch wind of that?"

"We wanted to," Scotty piped up, getting a chuckle from the majority of the group gathered there, though he didn't feel his own deadpan humor right then. "Power o' wishful thinkin'."

"Wait. If they didn't know what was going on with the _Wildstorm_, why did they jam her transponder too?" Lewis asked, after a few moments where they were all chewing on what was going on.

Sean shook his head, plainly exasperated. "I have no idea. I really didn't know anything. We picked up you guys trying to call the _Wildstorm_, and we picked up them calling for help, and I tried to get everyone to heave to and help out. But they refused, and Keith just said to keep going. And everyone did."

It was a small comfort that Keith O'Sullivan would probably be facing a whole lot worse at the end of this than the _Lady Grey's_ commanders, but Scotty would take it. "So, what we're sayin' is that he committed high seas mutiny, Harrison committed high seas piracy, and we're about to go and do the same. And that's all we really know."

"Succinctly," Corry replied, with a wan smile.

"So, what do we do now?" Albright asked, having been staying in the background and watching this discussion in rapt fascination.

Scott shrugged. "We go on."

"The _Queen Mary's_ gonna round the corner, if she's running full and by, probably tomorrow morning. Given our hull damage, though, we can't really risk running all out. She'll hold, but she won't take too severe a beating." Corry handed his coffee cup off to Scotty, standing and pacing around his cabin table. "I guess we could try modifying some tricorders to see if we can't break through her jamming and call Starfleet about what happened... I can't imagine that the _Wildstorm's_ crew wants anything more to do with the water, let alone high seas warfare."

"That would be the smart thing to do," Lewis said, sighing. "We'll probably still get into some crap for having cannons onboard, but if we don't use 'em..."

"That's a shame," Albright muttered, though he didn't sound like he was too against the idea of giving up the fight.

Scotty listened to them, absently taking a sip of the coffee he was holding before making a face at it. Then he shoved it back at Corry as he paced by, though he didn't bother saying anything about it. "All in favor o' not fighting?"

Kelley, not surprisingly, put his hand up. And after a moment or two, Lewis and Albright followed suit.

Cor took his coffee cup back and stopped pacing, raising an eyebrow at his best friend for a moment. But he kept his hand down.

"Good." Scott stood up, tossing a dry half-smile to the other three. "That way, when we do, ye've all done the right and proper thing by tellin' us it was a bad idea."

And with that, he walked out.

* * *

With two of the _Wildstorm's_ boats, plus the regulation number of their own, Scott figured that taking one and doing a little work on it couldn't hurt. It wasn't like he was making it unusable; if they really needed to abandon ship, it'd still function as a lifeboat. But it would also serve as something else, in the meantime. Something a little more unorthodox.

The _Lady Grey_ had a compliment of extra spars. The idea being that if anything happened to one of her yards, she could be repaired at sea. She also had a full suit of extra sails, and any number of extra coils of line.

Scotty had commandeered a good portion of the forward deck, having chased off pretty much anyone who would get in his way, and was in the process of building a miniature _Lady Grey_. If there was one thing that he had figured out about sailing, it was that getting an idea of scale on the ocean wasn't an easy thing - there were any number of ways to fall for a trick of the eyes. And a trick was exactly what he was engineering.

"C'mon. If I'm gonna be called on to do any fancy sailing, I've gotta know what the plan is."

Corry had been watching and occasionally helping with this little endeavor. He'd already guessed that it was a decoy, but he hadn't managed to guess what purpose the decoy was going to serve.

"I need to know where she'll be, and when," Scotty replied, stepping in the little main mast he'd created out of one of the _Lady Grey's_ spars.

"I don't know if I can give you exact coordinates," Cor said, as he helped from the other side of the boat, starting to hook up the standing rigging to the mast. "I can take a bunch of really good guesses, but that's about it."

"It'll have to be good enough, then."

"Then what?"

Scott focused on the task at hand for a minute or two, then glanced up. "We're gonna lay in wait. Douse our lanterns, send out our decoy here, an' we're gonna wait until she's close enough to breathe on, preferably in the dark."

Both of Corry's eyebrows went up at that. "Night attack?"

"Boardin' attack. I'm not about to go firin' on her while she's manned. But if she's lookin' at a decoy-"

"Then she won't be looking at us. And at night, without our lanterns?"

Scotty narrowed his eyes, looking off at the sea past Corry and the _Lady Grey's_ bulwark. "We'll be the _Ghost_."


	26. Part 5: Across the Line: Chapter 2

_Chapter 2:_

_Wednesday, June 14th, 2243  
The _Lady Grey_  
On the North Atlantic_

The fog wasn't planned, but it couldn't have been any better if it was.

The _Lady Grey_ had drifted through the peasoup haze that had rose from the sea, only a short time before the _Queen Mary_ was due to arrive. Running under jibs and staysails only, she more crept through the water than bounded; all those on deck, only enough to keep her under control, didn't speak above whispers.

They had been playing something like chess for the better part of twenty-four hours, sailing the _Grey_ into position, adjusting her course when needed. After the decoy was finished and outfitted with running lamps, Scott had put some of his improvisational talents to rigging a tricorder and communicator to try to track the _Queen Mary_, despite all jamming. The tricorder for its detailed information, the communicator for its range. It had taken him hours, some of those spent growling under his breath at not having enough tools for the job, but he'd finally done it.

They could have probably used it to contact Starfleet. But they didn't. In the end, the _Wildstorm's_ crew decided to stay out of it all, and Sean Kelley just shook his head and likewise stayed silent. Team C, who had started this, was determined to see it through - but when it came down to it, only two people on that team planned to take the fall for the rest.

More probably would have. They were a loyal lot. But part of loyalty was knowing when not to ask for it.

The decoy looked the part, even if she didn't have the size. She set sail into the fog, this little boat that mimicked a schooner, complete right to her port and starboard running lamps, and her masthead light. Still tethered back to the schooner, of course, but that one thin line wasn't enough to destroy the illusion.

The fog, in true approaching dawn form, was starting to ease up. With any luck the distortion of it, as well as the sometimes strange perspectives at sea, would convince the _Queen Mary_ that the _Lady Grey_ was just half-drifting aimlessly in her path.

The real _Lady Grey_ was dark, silent and invisible. If the decoy was a phantom, a trick, then she was the real ghost. Team C, absent only a handful left to sail the _Grey_, were waiting in the lifeboats already launched from her side, still connected to the falls to keep them from drifting off. They were all counting on the element of surprise in this venture; counting on the _Queen Mary_ not seeing them, but seeing their decoy. Counting on the other crew not to even know they're there until it was too late.

The order had been passed for absolute silence before they went down in the boats. All vital communication took place via whispered relay, and that was it.

That left the quiet moments before the attack for reflection. Most of the _Grey's_ crew of cadets were a mix between determined and giddy; it was exciting, if nothing else, committing high seas warfare. While the danger of the storm had put a razor's edge on what had originally been a daring coup, nearly everyone still felt that it was a chance to do something outlandishly fun. Especially since they'd all come to the conclusion that Starfleet just couldn't afford to court martial all of them.

Corry sat shoulder to shoulder with his best friend, occasionally casting a look at the tricorder whenever Scotty uncovered the screen he had his hand over to check it himself. Other than that, though, Corry didn't say anything. They hadn't done much talking in the past few days; it seemed like neither was exactly sure of what could be said. But they kept silent company anyway.

It still felt a little like they were in the water, though. It was a feeling that Cor hadn't been entirely able to shake, despite his best efforts to get back to the status quo. His attempts towards humor were usually met with a half-smile at best, but he really couldn't feel frustrated by it. He didn't feel his own humor. It wasn't that he felt terrible, even. He wasn't exactly sure what he felt. He only knew that he felt shaken.

_"How would I have lived with that?"_

When his father was sick, he only knew that he was afraid and desperate. After the fire, he was miserable and more than a little regretful.

But this was the first time he'd ever had to genuinely look at that question. Not the question of what he would do to prevent the bad things from happening, but how he would live with it if he couldn't. The fact that he didn't even have an _idea_ of what the answer would be to that question...

Scott shivered beside him briefly, probably a chill brought on by the fog, and Corry glanced over. Despite the look and quick nod he got back - _"I'm all right."_ - it still bothered him. It was hard enough to grapple with the actual events; what it took to save his best friend, not only from the water but the fire before that, but the miserable question of how he could have lived with it had he not been able to, and finally, a spike of anger towards those who'd set up both situations.

He didn't regret following Scotty into the fire, or the water. He never could. That's what friendship was supposed to be about.

But someone was gonna regret both of those happening in the first place.

He gestured to the tricoder and then looked at the screen when it was shown to him. It was just about the time to go, and he asked Scott, "Ready?"

"I'm ready," was the quiet answer.

Corry nodded, unsmiling, then started whispering the relayed orders. Time to go.

* * *

"What is it?" O'Sullivan asked, having been practically dragged up on deck. He squinted into the dark and the slowly lifting fog, trying to get a clear idea of what exactly he was supposed to be looking at. The fact that the faintest edge of gray, dawn light had just started rising made it even more difficult.

It looked like a ship; a masthead light, a port and starboard running light, and the vaguely defined phantoms of white sails. But there was no way that it could be; they were in the lead, by far. The _Wildstorm_ didn't even exist anymore, and the _Lady Grey_ was crippled.

"Looks like a ship to me," Maggie said, quietly. "But-"

"Shit!"

The single yell came from aft; the _Queen Mary_ had taken in sail and she had barely been moving to begin with, her steel hull making it harder for her to make use of the very light air. O'Sullivan couldn't guess at why anyone would be yelling.

And then chaos broke loose.

Swarming over the sides, pulling themselves over the bulwark and through the scuppers were people. What was worse, though, was that Keith recognized some of them.

"Bleedin' Hell," he muttered, and got ready to fight.

* * *

When the _Grey's_ crew came aboard the _Queen Mary_, the world became chaos. Over twenty bellowing cadets with war-cries, going from the bulwark to leaping on anything that moved, sometimes to the point of tackling each other.

Corry dodged two fists, one flying body and nearly ended up knocked back over the bulwark by another. "Cripes!"

"Reminds me of a barroom brawl," Scott commented, both eyebrows up, as he neatly sidestepped whoever it was who had nearly plowed Corry overboard. "Little more messy, though."

"You people are crazy!" the body said, then got to its feet and ran aft.

"Can you imagine this with swords and muskets?" Cor asked, having to dodge out of the way of one of their own teammates giving chase to whoever it was that just questioned their sanity.

"No, not really." Scotty shook his head and consulted his tricorder after looking up to make sure that he wasn't about to get ran into, decked or anything else. "I'm gonna try'n find whatever they're jammin' us with."

Corry nodded, then caught a glimpse of O'Sullivan across the deck swinging on Albright, who mercifully ducked in time. The gray light was beginning to rise at the same time as his own blood was. "I'm gonna do a little payback."

Scott picked his head up to follow the look, then frowned. "Be careful. Throws a mean right."

"So do I." Cor smirked, then started across the deck. He was just about to pick up speed and do a little body-checking when Maggie ran into him with a startled cry, trying to flee Jerry and Lewis.

"Corry, what are you doing?" she asked, frantically, grabbing onto his arm and looking like the damsel in distress in one of those old movies. "This is... this is..."

"Deserved," Corry answered, with a grin. He pulled free then took her arm, though not very hard, and held her there for Lewis and Jansson. "Tie this one up good, guys. She's pretty slimy."

Maggie looked aghast, and the damsel in distress aura faded when she realized it wouldn't work. She was cussing at Cor even as the other two guys got a hand each on her arms.

"Love you, too, Mags." He gave her a sardonic smile and a mock salute, and then kept on going.

* * *

It was a clever little rig. Likewise tricorder-and-communicator based, just like his own modification, but much larger and more powerful. Overall, Scott counted three different cannibalized tricorders, two communicators (likely one each for them and the _Wildstorm_), and the damned thing used the _Queen Mary's_ mainmast as a sort of giant antenna. Despite the fact that he was in the guts of the enemy's ship, he had to take time to admire the work.

The sounds of the madness taking place up on the maindeck were pretty well muffled down in the hold of the _Queen Mary_, though he could hear a couple of really good brawls going on up there. Part of him wanted to go and jump in, but any prior taste for violence he might have had lurking in his soul was firmly snuffed out in the North Atlantic a few days ago. Not that he still wasn't up for a fist-fight, if it came down to it. But the act of _not_ fighting was still so new that he wasn't sure exactly how to live with it yet.

Corry, on the other hand...

He frowned to himself, even as a good part of his brain devoted itself to picking apart the contraption in front of him. He didn't want to disable it yet; once it was shut down, Starfleet would realize that the _Wildstorm_ was gone, and it was a sure bet that they would be there in very short order.

Corry.

Scotty couldn't blame his best friend for being a little off-balanced, and he certainly couldn't begrudge any righteous anger, but the idea that the same leap into the water that had saved his own life might have cost Cor something that made him... made him _Corry_ was more than a little upsetting. That his best friend could have given up something vital, just to protect him.

Scotty tried to shake it off, but it was a persistent worry. Out of the two of them, Corry was the big-hearted, optimistic one who had been practically sickened by the rage that had gotten ahold of him before the fire - he sure didn't spend his life with his fists up, ready to take a swing at anyone or everyone. And while they'd both been adrift and somewhat distant, still trying to find where they stood in this world, that grim look that Corry had been wearing earlier bothered Scott.

He looked at the contraption again, and then shook his head. He could come back and deal with this later. Then he turned around...

...and Harrison was holding a phaser.

"It's too late," Harrison said, practically crying from fear. "It's too late."

* * *

Keith O'Sullivan was one tough fighter. He'd managed to stun Joe Albright pretty bad with one blow, and he'd managed to knock down a few other cadets immediately after. Even while the rest of the crew was being taken down right and left, he was still on his feet.

He was just finishing up with another one when he turned around and got slammed across the jaw hard enough to put him on his knees.

Corry shook his hand, eyes narrowed. "I owed you that one."

O'Sullivan smirked, spitting blood on the deck before he looked up. "Ain't you I was after. But if ye're that worried about yer little pal, it's not me you should be lookin' out for."

"What d'you mean?" Cor asked, scowling.

"Harrison lost it when ya boarded. I'm bettin' he went to get that phaser we had hidden below-decks."

* * *

"Ye really don't wanna do anything stupid," Scotty said, keeping his hands out to his sides, and holding still otherwise. Harrison looked like he was about two seconds from having a major panic attack, and when it came to phasers, panic was not a good thing. "It's one thing t'do a bit o' sabotage, but phaserin' someone..."

"Maybe we can make a break for it. Starfleet won't do anything to me if I have a hostage." Harrison nodded, a bit manically. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this. You know that, right? I mean, no one was really supposed to get hurt."

"Aye, I know." Scott believed it. That didn't take away the fact that he was pretty sure that Harrison was desperate enough to hurt or kill now, though. "Why don't we... why don't we come up with some idea, an' maybe then we'll all get out o' this in one piece."

Harrison shook his head, and the tears started running down his face. "It's too late. You know? It's too late."

"John..." It'd be a damnable thing to die just when you're really starting to grasp what it is to be alive. Scotty shook his head, trying to stay calm and cool about this himself. But for some reason, he couldn't get the thought out of his head that if he died like this, after all of this...

There was a roar that he had never heard before, and the reason he was alive to begin with ran into Harrison so hard that they both rebounded off the bulkhead. Even as fast as Scotty could be on his feet, he barely had time to process what was happening before Corry was snarling at Harrison, now pinned and half-stunned on the deckplates.

Cor didn't say anything; hit the other cadet with already bruised knuckles, and he was radiating rage. Not like the rage he'd had when he and Scott had it out, not that cold anger, but something else, and it was... was...

This was it. _This._

If he would have died like that, something else in someone else would've died with him. And if his life was saved in the Atlantic by not fighting, then this was his moment where he had to fight again. But not for his life, or for his right to breathe, or in plain defiance of the universe, but for something that his best friend was a swing of a fist from losing.

_"Stop,"_ he said, and it was a sharp note he'd never heard from himself before now. "Corry, _stop_."

"I'm sick of this," Cor snapped, but even with his fist drawn back again, and his eyes narrowed on Harrison, he held still there. And even with the anger in his voice, there was an edge of desperation under it. "How the Hell are we ever gonna be okay, when these things keep happening? And this little... little _fuck-up_ didn't even care. He coulda killed you, and it never woulda even mattered to him!"

That was some language Scott never heard out of his best friend before, and it was enough to make him fall silent for a moment. He didn't know what to say. What could he say? He didn't have the answers that they both once did, before that line was crossed, even if he was starting to get that those answers then were never the right ones.

But he needed to say something, and was desperate enough to say something.

"I _know_ you," he said, and drew in a deep breath. "I know you. An' this... this isn't worth what ye'd give up. The part o' you that ye'd need to let go of... it's not worth it."

Corry tightened his grip on Harrison's coat, not taking his gaze off the other cadet, who was positively terrified and probably holding his breath. "I'm tired of us getting knocked down! We're still in the water. I want to."

"That's why ye shouldn't." Scotty shook his head, hard, trying to keep the frantic feeling he had digging a sharp point into some spot just below his breastbone from getting into his voice.

"He deserves it," Cor said, but he was wavering.

Still in the water. He was right. They were still in the water, but this time...

"Don't pull me out o' the dark, just to go there yerself." And it was a plea, and maybe defiance, and certainly desperate.

The universe never stopped for heartbroken pleas, or even primal defiance, but it paused when you answered one of its infinite, unanswerable questions.

"What if I couldn't have saved you?" Corry asked, and he was the one fighting for oxygen, here and now at this time, looking at his best friend for an answer he probably didn't believe existed.

And Scotty gave it to him.

"You already have."


	27. Part 5: Across the Line: Chapter 3

_Chapter 3:_

_Wednesday, June 14th, 2243  
The _Lady Grey_  
On the North Atlantic_

"It's gonna be a good sailing day."

Cor's voice still sounded a little shaky and dazed, which wasn't too surprising. Scott still felt a bit shaky himself, though of the two of them, he was in better shape and therefore quietly stepped into the leadership role. Directing their crew on what to do with the now-secured prisoners, directing the boats be hoisted and secured, long enough to allow his best friend to get his head together.

He paused in his coordinating then though, looking at Corry, who had his face into the wind that had dissipated the last of the fog left after the sun rose. "Aye?"

"Yeah. Good strong wind, and a following sea."

Scotty tried the same trick, sticking his face into the wind. But he couldn't seem to tap into exactly what sixth sense told Corry that. After another moment, he quit trying and went back to rattling off orders to the crew, albeit on the low-toned side. Still, the comment stuck with him.

"If O'Sullivan doesn't walk the plank willingly, can I push him?" Albright asked, still rubbing his head from where he'd been hit, as he made his way over.

Having been on the receiving end of that fist once, Scotty could sympathize. "Ye'll get first go."

"Good." Joe took a breath, looking at Cor. "You okay, Corry?"

Corry just nodded, still feeling the wind and probably the sunrise, and probably the roll of the deck in the easy swells.

"Where's Lewis?" Scott asked, glancing around the deck.

Joe half-shrugged. "Still making sure our prisoners are comfortable. We're kind of a packed ship right now. Want me to go get him?"

"Not yet."

Jansson was the next to join the impromptu design team reunion, looking tired but cheerful in the orange light. "Well, what's left? We've got prisoners, we're still afloat... time to go sink the _Queen Mary_?"

There was a long pause, and Scotty thought about it. "Cor... ye sure about the weather?"

That got Corry to look away from the wind, and he nodded, sounding a little better. "Yeah, I'm sure."

Scott nodded, gave his best friend a pat on the shoulder, and then walked away.

"Where's he going?" Joe asked, looking after the shipwright.

* * *

"Take her."

Sean Kelley was standing at the bulwark, looking at the _Queen Mary_, but that was enough to jerk his attention right back to the immediate vicinity. He blinked in surprise, eyeing Scott as though he hadn't quite heard that right. "Huh?"

"Yer ship, Kelley. Take her. And as many o' the crew as ye need to sail her; just leave us the saboteurs, and promise ye won't disable that jammin' device until sunset." Scotty looked at the steel full-rigger himself for a moment.

"Seriously?" Sean still looked a little shocked, but there was something disturbingly like... happy in his face and voice, too. "You're not going to sink her?"

"No." Then a thought occurred to Scott. He chewed it over once or twice, and for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime, had to fight down a laugh. "Don't win the race, though."

"But you guys aren't going to be able to," Sean replied. He didn't sound like he was protesting, though, more like he was just confused.

"We're not, no."

"So... who will?"

Completely despite his best effort, Scotty grinned. "After all o' this? I want Command to have to name a starship _'Barely Afloat'_."

Kelley stared at him for a moment, incredulously. And then he started laughing, hard, practically to the point of tears.

* * *

"You what?" If the fact that they were cutting the _Queen Mary_ loose wasn't enough to break through Corry's distraction, then the fact that the _Barely Afloat_ would win the race was. It was absurd. And even though he was still reeling, the back of his throat was tickling with a laugh at it. "That's... that's really absurd."

Scott nodded, perfectly earnestly. "Aye, it is."

"So, what're we gonna do between now and sunset?" Joe asked; unlike Corry, he had been laughing pretty much from the moment the announcement was made and still was chuckling. So was Jansson.

"Good sailin' weather, right?" Scotty shrugged, crossing his arms and leaning back against the bulwark. "We sail. Heave to before sunset and throw some bastards overboard for a quick swim, and then wait for Starfleet to show up when they realize what happened."

It was amazing how you could want to laugh and cry at the exact same time. Corry huffed out a breath, trying to get the feelings back under control, but he couldn't quite do it. After the struggles, after the repeated near-death experiences, after all of it... he almost couldn't breathe, but it was in a good way, not in that terrible way where he felt like he was sinking into some place where man was never meant to go.

"I mean, ye'll have to mind the repairs," Scotty was saying, looking off to the horizon. "And ye might have to put up with me heavin' over the lee bulwarks, or finishin' off the saltines..."

Cor swallowed hard, taking a few deep breaths. Shaky all over again. But he managed a slightly cracked, "Thank you."

"It's what I built her for." Scott chuckled, dryly. "Kinda lost sight o' that."

"Yeah, me too," Corry said, and didn't feel too bad at having to wipe his eyes on his sleeve. But he was chuckling, even if he didn't exactly know why, and it felt good. Right. Geez, he felt okay; dazed and raw, but...

He felt right.

"Pick a horizon," Scotty said, half-smiling. "I'm goin' and takin' a nap."

* * *

In the end, the _Lady Grey_ took the bone in her teeth and ran; drove rainbows from under her bow, every thread of canvas rigged flying aloft. Hauled over to a port-side tack, she nearly buried her lee rail under the sea a few times in her graceful run.

The _Wildstorm's_ crew, despite their gratitude (and the promise that they would tell all about the rescue at sea by the _Lady Grey_ at whatever hearings would be due soon), ended up going with the _Queen Mary_. Most of Kelley's crew ended up going with him, too, aside the saboteurs; it was doubtful that they'd do anything but be well-behaved themselves with that many people to keep them in line.

Which left the original Team C with their prisoners, but no one was thinking about that right now. There was a certain sense of relief in the air, almost tangible, certainly as substantial as the wind that had the _Grey_ bowing and dancing through the water. As though they had faced the real trial, regardless of what Starfleet would end up doing.

Half-dozing, sometimes asleep, sometimes adrift, Scotty was sure that was exactly what it was. The storm was over. There was nothing that a court-martial could do to him that came close to what he had lived through and nearly died for; nothing that they could take from him more important than what he'd lost and gained. In the fire. In the water. On the _Queen Mary_.

And now. There against the bulwark, in the play between sun and shadow from the sails, only occasionally getting jolted when the spray made it up over the weather-side rail where he was reasonably sheltered from wind and water.

He drifted there, tired all the way into his soul, but a good kind of tired. Just weary, and peaceful, and still. He probably could have gotten up and pretended to be a sailor; hauled the lines, manned the wheel or just stood watch, but in the end, this was the spot that he had come to think of as his. Braced against a bulwark, secure enough that he didn't feel seasick. Even the bells being sounded didn't bother him, and he'd grinned a bit drowsily at the realization that he was actually kind of relieved to hear them ring for the normal watches again.

She wasn't a starship, but he wouldn't have traded her in that moment for any starship.

This was what he built her for. To sail fast, full and drawing, under the command of someone who loved her and who was now probably living and breathing this run back on the quarterdeck.

It was probably as close as Scott could get to turning back time for awhile, and it had cost a lot of everyone, but it was worth it.

The _Lady Grey_ was where she belonged, and so were they.

* * *

_*ding-ding*_

Corry smiled, but didn't open his eyes. The air was pretty warm, even into the evening, and after the hours he spent on the quarterdeck or on the mast, or hauling lines, trimming sails, running the _Grey_ as hard as her patched hull would allow, it was nice to sit. He still felt raw, like his nerve endings were all exposed, but it wasn't in a bad way.

_*ding-ding*_

"I love that sound," he said.

"It's not too bad," was the grudging reply from the other side of the brace. "What time is it?"

_*ding-ding*_

"Start of the First Watch."

"Already?"

"Yeah."

_*ding-ding*_

It was hard to believe how fast the day had gone. Not to say it was a short day - sunrise to now, 2000 hours, in the summer on the Atlantic, and it would be awhile more until the sun set. But it still had gone fast. Cor had only just slowed down a half-hour or so ago; settled down on the other side of the brace from Scotty, letting his crew handle the sailing for awhile.

There were a bunch of times he thought about dragging his best friend away from his spot there to show him something, but in the end, Corry had decided that if anyone deserved to spend a day dozing in peace, it was Scott. The fact that it was peace, something Corry wasn't sure he'd ever actually seen from Scotty, made it worth it.

Cor didn't let himself think about what was going to happen at twilight, when Starfleet showed up. He would have to give up his ship, and then there would be inquiries, court-martials, maybe even prison time. He didn't regret anything, but he didn't plan on thinking about it until he didn't have any other choice. For now, they were on the ocean.

"I, uh..." Corry chuckled at himself, shaking his head. "I wouldn't be here if not for you. You know that, right?"

There was a long pause, then Scott grumbled, "Don't go gettin' sentimental on me, all right? I'm drawin' the line at heartfelt discussions."

Cor had to laugh at that one. After everything, maybe there was a good point to that plan - what could anyone ever really say about it all?

Maybe they'd already said it, in all the ways that mattered.

"I've gotcha," Corry said, not entirely out of the blue, and he knew that it would be understood. If only because it was the first time he truly understood it himself.

He could hear the smile in the answer: "I know."

* * *

The deck was a bit rowdy, but that wasn't anything like a surprise. After the past few days, people were having fun; the certain knowledge that things would all come to an end shortly had something to do with it. It was decompression, in a way - trying to release some stress before it was over.

"Arrrrrr!" Jansson said, striking a pose, sounding and looking like a fool and obviously not caring.

Scotty was absolutely sure that Corry would make Jerry look like a top-billed Shakespearean actor, regardless.

The 'prisoners' were busy glaring darts at everyone else; tied quite well and with sailors' knots, the only one of them not glaring was Harrison. He was still looking kind of stunned, kind of miserable, kind of terrified. Scott couldn't blame him - impulsive as he himself had been of late, Harrison's terrors and ambitions had gone much further.

He paused from watching the plank being put out for this little high-seas 'execution', a moment of indecision, then headed over. O'Sullivan gave him a long, hard look; Scott only briefly returned it, one eyebrow up, then ignored him further.

Harrison looked at him in appeal, but Scotty wasn't quite ready to go grant one. Still, though, he wasn't about to go kicking a man while he was down, either. "They can't kill ye," he said, without any preambles.

"They can kill my career," Harrison replied, swallowing then looking anywhere else. "Send me to prison to break rocks. I mean, I held a phaser set to kill on you. That's prison time right there."

"Aye, it is." The fact that the phaser really had been set to kill made Scott's stomach do a flip, but he managed to keep that out of his voice. It was over now, and he was still alive. "But that doesn't change the fact that ye'll live to see tomorrow."

"I guess not." Harrison didn't look like he believed it. But, Scotty reasoned, it wasn't his job to comfort someone who could have killed him - only, maybe, to be fair about things.

Maybe Harrison would figure out what the important thing was, in the end. Maybe not. At least Scott had.

"All right, swabbies, let's send some blackguards to the briny deep!" Corry's voice cut through any introspection, and everyone on deck looked at him. Then looked harder. "Mister Albright, please scan and make sure there are plenty of sharks in the near vicinity!"

Albright was too busy staring to acknowledge the order. In fact, everyone on deck was too busy staring to.

The fact that Cor was in full, stereotypical pirate regalia had something to do with it. Absurdly bright colors, with a fake gold hoop in one ear, with fake hook covering his hand, and a not-so-fake cutlass in his sash, he looked like he'd stepped out of a storybook.

But it was the huge, obviously false black beard that was hanging to his waist that did it.

"What arrrrrrrre you waiting for?" he barked, brandishing his hook high. "Get to it, ya slacks!"

And the entire deck crew, with the exception of the prisoners, busted up laughing. Corry kept playing his mad pirate routine, generally insulting his crew with the worst imitation oaths ever, but eventually Albright managed to quit laughing long enough to report, "Twenty-three sharks in a half-mile, Captain Blackbeard!"

"ARrrRRgh! And bring on the chum!" Corry replied, pulling his cutlass dramatically once he made sure that no one would be accidentally impaled.

While they were doing that, he made his way over to Scott, quieting a little. "What?"

Scotty just shook his head, slowly, trying his absolute best not to start laughing again. But it was a fight he was losing. "Ye look like..."

"Like a fearsome, deadly pirate about to turn people into chum?" Cor asked, grinning.

"Like an _idiot_," Scotty finished, and was still laughing when Corry dragged him to the side and threatened to pitch him overboard.

* * *

"Mister O'Sullivan! For mutiny, piracy - arrr, we be hypocrites! - assault and various other nefarious deeds, we're hearby offering you to the sharks! And may whatever higher power you believe in... well, to Hell with it! Over with the bastard!"

Far and away, Corry's pirating routine was more memorable than throwing the prisoners overboard. Simply because, despite some growling from the mutineers, the real theatrics were in Cor's over-the-top performance.

O'Sullivan didn't actually put up any fight, probably to deprive them of the joy of throwing him over. He wasn't afraid; despite all talk of sharks, everyone knew that the scans had been confirming the lack thereof. And all of the prisoners had life-vests on before they were pitched over, along with cadets ready to haul them out if something did go wrong.

As such, Keith just gave a long, narrow-eyed look at the crew and Scott in particular, then stepped off the plank.

As the rescue crew was busy working on hauling him out, Maggie made the walk. She was trying to take a page from her boyfriend's book, but wasn't doing nearly so good a job of it.

"This is absurd!" she said, setting her heels and requiring the cadets escorting her to the plank to half-drag her the rest of the way.

Corry briefly dropped his mad pirate persona for a moment, grinning back at her brightly. "Well, yeah. That's kind of the point."

She didn't apparently get it, just stared at him, incredulously. The cadets stuck her on the plank, then nudged her out. "Why?"

Scott was the one who ended up replying, with a smirk. "'Cause it's good for a laugh."

And it was. Not only did she screech when she was pushed off of the plank, but she likewise screeched when she hit the cold water. Corry and Scotty were grinning as they watched from the bulwark, both of them rather tongue-in-cheek about the whole thing.

"Those wet clothes cling nice," Corry commented aside, casually.

"Aye." Scott nodded, in full agreement. "Shame that if she shed her skin, she'd be a snake underneath."

Harrison was the last one, mostly because the crew of the _Lady Grey_ felt the most strongly about his deeds. While O'Sullivan had a part, and the others did as well, Harrison was the one who nearly sunk the schooner and likely had masterminded quite a bit of it.

As of now, he simply looked miserable, as though any fear of being pushed overboard couldn't compare to the internal grief. If not for the fact that he had been so much a part of the whole mess, Scotty would have probably felt more badly for him.

Corry was about to say something, but Scott cut him off; he didn't raise his voice much, but after only a few words, the entire deck fell silent.

"I don't think any of us were particularly thinkin' when we got started on this whole mess. I know I wasn't. And," he shrugged there, "I don't really think we've got all that much right to judge ye. I'm guessin' the inquiry we're all gonna be facin' here shortly will do a better job than us lot can."

Harrison looked briefly relieved, but then Scotty shook his head and the look faded as he continued talking, "I'm not goin' to pretend this isn't revenge. It is. Ye damn near destroyed this schooner, damn near killed a lot o' people, and I don't think there's any possible explanation or excuse ye could give that'd make any o' that acceptable. We all made our share o' mistakes. But when it came down to givin' up the race and everything else, or continuin' on and maybe costin' lives, we made the right call."

There was a long pause, and Scott nodded to the 'executioners', who pushed Harrison up onto the plank. It wasn't a huge struggle, but it was enough of one.

It wasn't all that satisfying, watching Harrison start to panic. But the next words were.

"We made the right call." Scotty tipped his chin up. "Consider yerself lucky that ye'll someday get the chance to make the right one yerself."

* * *

The sun settled down on the horizon, low and vivid. Things had quieted down again; on the quarterdeck, it was nearly silent, just the sounds of the sea and the light of the sunset throwing out the last warm colors of the day in a brilliant display.

The taffrail he'd gone over to dive under the boat was warm under his hands, and the internal calm he'd managed to find today was still entirely present. It was, for the moment, just the sea and the schooner and himself. Corry was up aloft, on his platform, or had been last time Scotty had looked - doubtless soaking in these last moments on the Atlantic, steeling himself for the inevitable, reflecting on the same strange inevitability that had led them here.

It wasn't really fate. Or destiny. Still all about choices - which ones could make you, which ones could break you. Upsea or down. Sink or swim. Maybe even live or die.

The universe may or may not notice.

Scott nodded to himself.

To Hell with the universe. It could ask all of the questions it wanted, and some of those could never be answered. And he could ask it all of the questions he wanted, and those wouldn't be either. When it came down to it...

When it came down to it, regardless of the universe, regardless of everything, the choices were still his own.

"Shame we won't get to use those guns," Corry said, stepping up to the taffrail just as the sun's bottom red-orange edge touched the horizon, likely just down from his time aloft. It didn't sound like he was all that bothered by it, though. More just a random, slightly amused comment.

"Aye, I think Joey may be mournin'. All that work, and they'll never be fired."

"Yeah. Probably be melted down or something." Cor leaned on the rail on his elbows, taking a deep breath and letting it out, watching the sun sink faster.

Scott nodded himself, and mirrored the motion. "They'll be here in probably a half hour? Give or take."

"I know."

Half down, sunk into the ocean, the sun was all red now. Good sailing day tomorrow, even if by then they would likely be behind bars or at least confined somewhere.

"Didn't the navies do somethin' with the guns, to salute other ships?" Scotty asked, at length.

"Yeah," Corry said, with a side-long glance. "They'd fire their cannons. Show that they were willing to put themselves into a vulnerable position, since it takes time to reload, as a salute to another nation's ship."

"Well, we do have cannons..."

Corry grinned, just as the sun left the sky.

And when Starfleet's shuttle showed up in the twilight, hovering near the _Lady Grey_, for the first time in centuries a full-gun salute was fired by a ship at sea.


	28. Part 5: Across the Line: Chapter 4

_Chapter 4:_

_Tuesday, July 4th, 2243  
Administration Building, Inquiry Hall  
Starfleet Engineering Academy  
Belfast, Ireland, Earth_

It took weeks. Weeks of cadets being paraded in front of the board of inquiry, weeks of testimonies, weeks of Starfleet trying to get over the black eye from the media that, not only had they not known what was happening at sea during the jamming incident, but had nearly lost people due to it... and that they were court-martialing cadets, often considered the best and brightest that the Federation had to offer.

The buzz eventually faded in light of interesting developments in the cold war between the Klingon Empire and the Federation, but the inquiries didn't.

They couldn't very well court-martial the entire group that had been involved. When it came down to it, four of them were formally charged - O'Sullivan, Harrison, Corrigan and Scott.

They had indeed made the history books - the second time for Scott - but instead of for some accomplishment, they were noted down as the first cadets ever court-martialed in Starfleet history. O'Sullivan ended up being offered a choice between years of community service and a dishonorable discharge, and took the discharge.

The last time Scott saw him was two days before his own sentencing; O'Sullivan dressed in civilian clothes, Scott in his black dress uniform, outside of the inquiry hall.

"See ya in merchant service, maybe," O'Sullivan said, and Scotty was surprised that the dark glowering he'd been getting from the other cadet since the mutiny wasn't there anymore.

"Aye, maybe," Scott replied, not exactly sure what to make of this unexpected amiability.

O'Sullivan looked around the marble hall, his gaze settling to rest on the flag of Starfleet. "Never really was meant for this." Then, with that reflection, he half-shrugged with a grin that was rather nonchalant considering the circumstances. "Good luck. Ye put up a good fight, for a tyrant."

Despite his best judgment, that made Scotty chuckle. And despite everything, he meant his reply: "Good luck to you, too."

The very last thing he ever heard about Keith O'Sullivan was that he had blown his own ship to kingdom come, a captain at thirty of a ship he bought himself for cargo carrying, taking a Klingon battle cruiser with him. And when he heard about it, Scott could only reflect that maybe the mean-as-a-snake Irishman wouldn't have chosen any other way to go out of the game.

Harrison took the worst of it. He not only had been charged with the worst crimes, but he had lied during the proceedings, adding perjury to the list. Thus far, everyone else had been honest about it all, even Maggie - some out of fear, some for the sake of honor - and Harrison's lies stood out like a beacon. It finally came out that he had been behind manipulating the whole thing because if Kelley, Scott and a handful of others between the two teams were sunk, career-wise, he would be the top of the class. So he had taken the tension already there, then further pitted the teams against one another.

Led away in restraints, on his way to break rocks on a prison asteroid for five years, Harrison looked defeated and broken-spirited, and no matter what had been done and said in the past, Scott never quite forgot that look.

That had left Corry and Scotty, who stood together for the last round of it, and stood outside together waiting for the sentencing.

"Is it bad that I'm more afraid of going home and seeing Mom and Dad, than I am of what's gonna be said in there?" Cor asked, arms crossed as he looked out of the windows.

"Not really." Scotty wasn't really looking forward to explaining to his own family, either. At all. While there had been some very limited communications between Corry and his family since the inquiries started, none of it had really done much to ease the disappointment, and that would only get worse when this was over. Scotty hadn't even attempted to call his own, though they had been informed.

The cadets had been honest about it all. Scott saw no point in trying to find loopholes, or play the system to get out of it. Not only would that be against his own nature, but it would be downright dishonorable to boot. When the charges came up, he made no effort to fight the ones that he knew he was guilty of, and only dug his heels in on the ones that were genuinely unfair or inaccurate. Corry had done the same.

The conviction was already over and it had been, at least, honest.

"Well, the worst case scenario is that we end up like Harrison. The best case scenario... uh..." Corry laughed, albeit quietly. "Help?"

"We don't get charged by the civilian court for high seas piracy?" Scott replied, with a half-grin and a shrug. "Damned if I know what's gonna happen, Cor."

"If we're still in Starfleet when this is over, I'm betting we'll be kept ensigns until we're fifty." Corry glanced back at his best friend, looking wryly amused at it all. "Sure I can't talk you into going pirate? The _Grey's_ in dock, not too far away."

"Oh, I've had my fill o' that, I think." After a moment more thinking on it, Scotty added, diplomatically, "For now, anyway."

Corry just nodded, still smiling some, and it fell to silence again. But... a comfortable silence. Really, even a peaceful one. When the deliberating was over, they would go and face whatever was due them, even if they didn't know what that would be.

Together, into the fire and the storm.

* * *

The board consisted of Admiral Pirrie, Captain Pearson and Captain Robert April, who had been overseeing the construction work on the four new _Constitution_-class starships being built in orbit. Starships that, at this point, Scott wasn't so sure he would ever get to see with his own eyes. If there was any real sorrow for how things had happened, it was that he might never get to step foot onto the _Constitution_, the starship he'd been dreaming of now for years.

But before he could give his heart to a starship, he'd had to give his heart to a schooner. And that, he was sure now, was no bad thing.

"Do you have anything further to say in your defense?" Pirrie asked, eyeing the two cadets standing at attention in front of the table.

"No, sir," Scotty said, knowing he was speaking for the both of them. "We made choices we can live with, or die with."

April raised an eyebrow, his mouth in a straight line, but something like amusement written in his face despite it. "That is a rather decisive lack of remorse, Mister Scott."

"Nothin' can be done to change it now, sir. Only live with it, and we can do that."

"He speaks for me, too, sirs," Corry said.

After a moment, April nodded and Scotty thought that maybe the Captain understood that. But April didn't say anything more, simply looked over at Pirrie. "Admiral?"

Pirrie stood up, looking at his students, who looked back steadily.

"Mister Corrigan," he started, walking around in front of the desk, pacing back and forth with his cane, "You had recently requested a transfer to the Medical and Sciences Division in Baltimore. Needless to say, that request is now very much denied."

Scotty didn't need to look over to know that had hit Cor hard. Despite how he had gotten tangled up in the sciences, the other cadet had still found a real passion for it in the end that wasn't obsession-driven, a passion that he'd never really had for engineering. Scott winced himself, internally, too.

"However, Commander Barrett and several other instructors have mentioned that you have a good deal of potential, if not a rather notable lack of discipline." Pirrie stopped in front of Corry, facing up to the cadet. "Therefore, Starfleet is prepared to give you a choice. An exchange program is being considered to allow cross-training between our own Medical and Sciences Division and the Vulcan Science Academy. Commander Barrett has already arranged for you to have a position in the test program, firmly believing that the discipline of Vulcan would do you some good. The board is in agreement. In the meantime, your commission will remain probationary for one further year, revocable at any point should you get yourself into trouble."

Scott could hear Corry draw in a bit of a sharp breath. The Vulcan Science Academy was perhaps the toughest, and the best, school in the entire quadrant for the living sciences. He could get a degree there, and the finest of training, within two years instead of four to six. On the other hand, the kind of focus and discipline needed to complete that kind of work was astronomical. Never mind that he would be far from home, family, the ocean and everything he loved.

"Your other option," Pirrie continued, "is to take a dishonorable discharge and be barred from any further involvement with Starfleet for a period of ten standard years."

"Yes, sir," Corry replied, a quaver in his voice. "Do I... do I have time to make a decision, sir?"

"You have three days. The program starts in two months." Not giving the cadet any further attention, the admiral turned his gaze to Scott.

Scott didn't let himself relax from where he stood at attention, but he didn't flinch under Pirrie's look, either. There really was nothing that could be done to him that fire and water and fear hadn't already tried to do, and the least he could manage himself in this moment was to face the consequences of his own choices with a steady heart.

"You... are a sore disappointment." Pirrie sounded it, too, something that did sting a little. "Despite some debatable marks that you've gained in this timeframe where you were in the midst of trying to destroy your promising career, your academics have been top rate. It's been unfathomable to us how a good student could turn reckless and irresponsible in so short a time. Ultimately, we can only conclude that you may have just been too young to graduate and perhaps missed some vital training within that extra year that could have saved this from happening."

Scotty had a damn hard time not growling at that one. The thought that he was at least a year younger than the rest of his class hadn't even crossed his mind, really, and to have that blamed for his decisions felt like a slap across the face. He went to reply, briefly grinding his teeth together.

Pirrie must have noticed that look. He knew Corry did, because the other cadet broke stance to look over. And even though he only caught it out of the corner of his eye, Scotty knew what the message was.

He kept his mouth shut.

"As such, given your high marks as well as your apparent lack of readiness for active duty, you're going to spend another year under a probationary commission. In that time, you'll be expected to attend courses on good conduct as well as perform community service on Lunar."

Lunar Spaceport. About as far from a shining start to a career that Scott could see, within Starfleet. The notion of good-conduct classes galled him, too.

"Further, you'll be spending three years on corrective action, with a firm eye being kept on your performance. Your other option is to take the dishonorable discharge, just like Mister Corrigan." Pirrie raised both eyebrows. "Are you able to live with that, Mister Scott?"

For just a split second, Scotty thought about taking the discharge, thought about taking O'Sullivan's route, thought about it all. But it was a fleeting thought. He'd fought too hard to get this far.

Now he would heave to, ride out the gale, and set sail again when it was over.

"Aye, sir." Scotty nodded, smartly. "I can."

* * *

It was after all of the paperwork, and after the bell had been rung signaling that the inquiries were all finally over, that Scott got to talk to Barrett again. He hadn't really been looking forward to seeing the disappointment he was sure to get from the Commander, who had been nothing but fair throughout the entire thing.

And so it had surprised him to no end when that disappointment never appeared.

"Did you find it?" Barrett asked, with that same eerie certainty, the same question he had asked the morning before the _Lady Grey_ had been set ablaze. Standing outside of the hall, as the sun was setting on Belfast, he looked like he already knew the answer to the question that he was asking, too.

Scott clasped his hands behind his back. "Aye, sir, I believe so." He took a moment there, thought about how to word his response. How to show that he'd found the answer to that question, had even fought for it, when the universe didn't want to give it up to him.

"It's not destiny or fate; it's life, it only ever gives ye two choices at a time, and whether ye sink or swim, fight or don't, live or die... the choice on how ye face it's still yours," he finally said.

Then he nodded, putting the final and perhaps most important part in, "Still mine."

And that was the nature of wind.


	29. Epilogue: Fair Wind

**Epilogue: Fair Wind**

* * *

It's all to the wind,  
It's all in our hands...

'Cause we break,  
And we burn,  
And we turn it inside out  
To take it back to the start;  
And through the rise and falling apart...

We discover who we are.

-**Lifehouse**, Who We Are

* * *

_Saturday, August 19th, 2243  
Starfleet Academy Main Campus  
San Francisco, California, North America, Earth_

The chatter at the back of the crowd was more of a buzz than a solid noise; whispers that broke occasionally into silence, then started up again just as unfathomably.

San Francisco was surprisingly sunny and warm. There was a good haze that made the Golden Gate Bridge look ghostly, but no true fog like there had been that morning. People had gathered, admittedly slowly, over the course of the hours approaching mid-afternoon, and it seemed as much like a big picnic as anything else.

Of course, the area near the water's side was packed, and the view was less than perfect higher on the hill and further back, but it was still all right.

Scott had just gotten off shift at Lunar, having rearranged his hours as best he could to be here. He needed a shower in the worst possible way, and probably had more black grease showing on his face than clean skin, but that had its benefits too -- people gave him a reasonably wide berth.

Well, most people.

"You look like a grease monkey," Corry said, pulling no punches. Dressed in his new Science blues, he looked clean, neat and not like someone who left his half of their former room in shambles. Unfortunately, Scotty knew perfectly well that appearances could be deceiving. "Smell like one, too," Cor added, wrinkling his nose up, jokingly.

"Sympathy's as legendary as ever," Scotty replied, with a scoff, crossing his arms and glancing down at his stained up coveralls. "Been called worse, though."

"Like chicken. Or puppy. Or cub."

"Bastard."

Cor chuckled, "Yep. That's me."

Corry was leaving in four hours for Vulcan; had grabbed the last transport he could to the desert world that would still allow him to report on time. And despite all possible banter, Scott knew that his best friend was struggling with it. As much as Scotty was always reaching for the stars, Corry was always trying to keep his feet on the ground (or on a boat's deck), and two years spent so far away was going to be difficult for him.

Then again, they'd managed to do some rather difficult things over the course of... well, of a long time. In Scott's case, maybe even a lifetime.

He had gone back with his best friend to South Bristol, had stood at Cor's side while the inevitable explanations had to take place with Corry's parents, and then he had gone back to Aberdeen to give his own report. In the end, though, there was no fury, just a kind of apathetic disappointment in his actions. And where he might not have been able to stand that even a year before, Scotty could live with it now... it stung, but he could live with it.

He wasn't exactly sure what would happen from here, for either of them or any of them. He really only knew that he would keep his head up and work himself back out of the mess that they had gotten into -- eventually, provided nothing happened, he would be let off of corrective action and even if he had to fight for every single promotion from there on out, he still felt that it was worth it. Right or wrong, it had been worth it.

The schooner that had been a very big part of all of it was due to be tugged into San Francisco Bay, having been brought across the Atlantic, through the Panama Canal and up the coast by dynacarriers.

"I'm kinda glad they're tugging her in," Corry said, after a few minutes of quiet. "I don't know if I can take seeing her under sail without me."

Scott wasn't sure that he could take it either, and he still wasn't much of a sailor. But both of them loved that schooner, and even though there were a few old scars they had gotten from working on her, it was doubtful that they'd trade those. Seeing the _Lady Grey_ sail without them would be a little too much. "At least she's gonna have a good home, though."

"Yeah." Cor laughed, shaking his head, "I wish I could be here to see the first sail-training crew from Command School try to take her out. That'd be a more painless riot."

It had been Barrett's idea to send the ships built by the Engineering cadets over to the Command Division for sail training. An old naval tradition that had long since fallen out of practice, it was a way to salvage the tarnished reputation that the windjammers had gotten due to the race. The pitch hadn't been hard to make, and it was accepted by the brass without much fuss.

Now, as to the _Barely Afloat_... the decision had been made to honor the deal that they had made, but that really had a lot of accompanying fuss. And that alone, despite hearing about it in the middle of one of those damnable good conduct classes, had forced Scotty to put his head down on his desk to keep his laughter from disrupting everything. Command would honor the deal, and christen a starship with that name, but would immediate re-dedicate it to a name that was just a little more dignified.

When he called Corry about it, Cor had laughed so hard that he couldn't even really breathe, just setting Scotty off all over again. And while duties had meant they didn't see all that much of each other in the time since the court martial, they still had managed to keep each others' spirits up.

That would get a lot harder in short order.

"Almost forgot," Scotty said, having been prompted by that last thought. He pulled the smallish box out of his pocket, rather glad that the box itself wasn't all that important, given the current state of his hands. "Here."

Corry looked at it for a moment, then took it and eyed Scott, imitating his best friend in a worrying accurate way, "'Don't go gettin' sentimental on me, all right?'"

Scott laughed, "I'm still drawin' the line at heartfelt discussions."

"Well, good," Cor replied, rolling his eyes. "Wouldn't wanna go have any of those, nope." But he was still smiling about it when he opened the box, and then the smile faded. "Cripes, Scotty..."

It hadn't been easy to get ahold of the pocket compass, and Scotty refused to spend that kind of capital on anything that had been less than well-made, but he figured that it was an entirely worthy gift. Maybe not five hundred years old, but a solid three or so, it was one of the finest ones that had been made and still worked, despite some wear on the cover.

"This... really had to cost way too many credits," Corry said, obviously getting a little choked up.

Scott waved that off, even though he was kind of touched by the reaction. "Wasn't that bad. Besides, a decent piece of equipment like that's never really a bad investment."

Corry struggled to get himself composed, and finally said, "Thank you."

"It's so ye can find yer way back home," Scott replied, not looking over, with a bit of a smile.

Corry nodded, a quick bob of his head, and Scotty wryly reflected that they really were getting into dangerously sentimental territory here. Still, though, if he couldn't be there to go and bolster his best friend's spirits, especially on Vulcan where Corry wouldn't likely have all that many people to joke with, a reminder couldn't be a bad thing.

He was polite enough not to look over at Corry wiping his eyes, either. Supposed that the same thing that made Corry who he was, was the same thing that made him get all misty-eyed when emotion got the better of him, and that it was a good thing.

"Well, uh... since we're already all sentimental--"

"Speak for yerself," Scotty interrupted, a somewhat weak attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

"--here. Since you lost yours saving the _Grey_."

After a moment of staring at it, Scotty carefully took the new penlight. He had reached for his old one countless times since he lost it, and missed it quite a bit when he was trying to work on something in cramped or low-lit places. It had really never left his possession from when it was given to him, to when it slipped from his fingers under the _Lady Grey_, and despite not really saying anything about it, he had quietly mourned the loss.

It was both surprising and not surprising at all that Corry had noticed anyway.

He looked it over, not holding onto it too hard for the sake of not marring the new matte black surface with the grease from his hands. Then held it out of his own shadow to read the little letters, etched silver, around the light-end of it.

"Wolf," he said, and wanted to make a joke about it being puppy, cub or mutt, but he couldn't quite make himself speak much more past the constricted feeling in his chest.

"In case you find yourself in the dark." Corry managed to keep a fairly steady note. "At least you won't be there alone."

Mercifully, at least for his pride, Scotty didn't have to reply to that. He was having a hard enough time trying to even breathe past it. Like all of it... the past couple of years, and all that had changed, and all he had gained, and lost, and given up, and still searched for... all of it was summed up in just a few words. What it was to face the fire, what it was to face the water.

What it was when you trusted someone else enough that they could save you from both, and the dark cold places you knew too well.

The tug materialized out of the haze, and behind it like a ghost was the _Lady Grey_. Trim from stem to stern, clean practical lines, built from the keel up with blood, sweat and tears. The rest of the crowd got louder, pointing and talking in excited tones, at the first full-sized sailing ship to grace the Bay in a very long time.

They didn't say anything, just stood and watched as she became more distinct, clearer, her fine details easily seen by those who spent so much time on them. Kept watch as she was pulled to her new home on Hyde Street Pier, where there was a flurry of first year Command cadets who were staring at her in awe, their silence and stillness easily apparent even at a distance.

There was nothing more to say, at the moment. After the crowd moved, heading closer to the pier where the schooner was now being tied up, they both turned around and left, Scotty putting his new penlight in the usual pocket occupied by the old one.

There was nothing more to say, at the moment, about it all.

It had all been said already.

They walked away together.


End file.
